University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

Gift  of 
JOSEPHINE  MILES 


CONSTANTINOPLE, 


THE  ISLE  OF  PEARLS, 


OTHER  POEMS. 


S.    G.  W.  BENJAMIN. 


BOSTON: 
X.   J.    BART  LETT. 

1860. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1860,  by 

S.   G.   W.   BENJAMIN, 
In  the  Clerk's  03ice  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


A  N  D  O  V  E  R  I 
PRINTED  BY  WARREN  F.  DRAPER. 


CONSTANTINOPLE. 


CONSTANTINOPLE. 


[Apostrophe  to  Constantinople.  —  The  scene  opens  on  the 
walls  of  the  City.  —  Invocation  to  the  Genius  of  the  place, 
who  calls  up  scenes  from  its  History.  —  Fall  of  Constanti 
nople.  —  Allusion  to  a  Legend  connected  with  that  event. — 
Description  illustrating  the  former  glory  of  the  Seraglio.  — 
Also,  a  scene  suggested  by  the  secret  intrigues  which  that 
palace  has  witnessed.  —  Reflections.  —  The  Seraglio  grounds. 
—  The  Aqueduct  of  Valens.  — The  Mosque  of  Sultan  Suly- 
man.  —  The  Mausoleums  of  that  monarch  and  his  favorite 
Sultana.  —  The  Hippodrome.  —  The  Brazen  Column  from 
Delphi.— Description  of  a  Conflagration  in  the  Capital.— 
Reflections  and  Conclusion.] 

I. 

BYZANTIUM  !  proud  city  of  the  sea ! 
Thou  fairest  of  the  fair,  whose  fading  pride 
Be<Jecks  the  Osmanlee's  rich  diadem  ! 
Is  there  no  harp  to  swell  thy  funeral  strains, 
To  celebrate  Time's  gradual  march  along 
Thy  moss-grown  battlements  and  silent  halls  ? 
Is  there  no  bard  to  lift  his  voice  on  high. 
And  to  lament  thy  pristine  greatness,  O 
1 


6  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

Thou  vast  necropolis  of  darkened  fame, 
Of  dead  magnificence  ?  —  Thou  mistress  old 
Of  tottering  ruins,  whose  worn  features  still 
Bear  witness  sad  to  thy  primeval  glory  ! 

II. 

The  zephyr  off  the  land  sighs  mournfully 

Over  the  aged  city's  grassy  roofs  ; 

The  silver  wave  glides  rippling  up  the  beach  ; 

The  high-pro  wed  checkdeme l  floats  motionless, 

Its  shadow  twinkling  o'er  the  glassy  swell, 

Where  the  lone  fisher-duck  dives  silently ; 

From  time  to  time  some  dweller  of  the  deep 

Leaps  curving  through  the  air,  and  darts  again, 

With  heavy  plunge,  beneath  the  tranquil  flood. 

No  voice  disturbs  the  solitude  of  walls 

Doomed  to  the  earthquake  and  the  battering  surge. 

Comes  there  no  sound  adown  the  waste  of  years 
To  strike  the  dreamer's  ear  ?  —  no  muffled  wail, 
The  dying  notes  of  ages  long  expired  ? 
What  mean  the  marble  fragments  strewed  around, 
Like  whitening  sculls  upon  a  battle-plain  ? 
What  means  the  dreary  desolation  which 
Broods  o'er  these  towers,  that  have  no  sentinel 
Except  the  hermit  stork  in  summer  time  ? 

1  Small  coasting  craft. 


CONSTANTINOPLE. 

III. 

Rise,  Spirit  of  these  Ruins,  sorrowing 
With  moaning  hollow  as  the  voice  of  one 
Who  mutters  in  a  mountain's  riftless  cave  ! 
Awake  from  out  thy  trance  of  grief  !  awake  ! 
Withdraw  the  veil  of  nightshade  from  thy  brow  ; 
Remove  the  covering  off  the  silent  Past, 
As  a  fond  mourner  lifts  the  rustling  shroud 
From  the  fixed  features  of  the  one  she  loved, 
And  let  us  view  the  mysteries  of  Time. 

The  nations  sepulchred  below  ^appear  ; 
Innumerably  the  generations  pass, 
With  fabulous  pageantry,  —  rich  kings  and  queens, 
Scholastic  monks,  and  mighty  men  of  War : 
But  every  visage  bears  the  ghastly  hue 
That  speaketh  of  Oblivion's  dolorous  land. 
How  solemnly  the  shadowy  train  moves  by, 
Obedient  to  the  roll  of  requiem  strains  ! 

Renowned  in  arms,  lo  !  Constantine  the  Great, 
He  of  the  cross-emblazoned  standard,  comes  ; 
Exulting  pagans  bid  the  victor  hail 
To  proud  Byzantium,  his  imperial  seat. 

Who  passeth  there,  with  siren  glance,  and  locks 
Tossed  back  disdainfully  from  shameless  brow  ? 
The  imperial  wanton  Theodora,  —  she 
Whose  charms  appeased  a  factious  populace. 


8  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

The  laurel  withering  on  his  temples  sere, 

The  hero  of  a  hundred  fights  draws  nigh, 

Who  learned  th'  ingratitude  of  princes'  hearts. 

O  Belisarius  !  in  an  age  of  vice 

Unsullied,  to  thy  jealous  sovereign  true, 

Nor  daunted  by  thy  country's  threatening  ills, 

Thou  wert  a  pharos  firm  upon  the  rock 

When  lashed  by  storms.    Surpassing  rich  the  race 

That  in  its  records  shows  a  man  like  thee ! 

The  champions  of  the  Cross,  marshalled  in  haste 
From  Albion's  shores  and  Caledonia's  wilds, 
From  gay,  chivalric  France,  from  Rhineland's  towers, 
And  from  Hesperia's  citron  groves,  approach  — 
A  phantom  host  defiling  from  the  tomb. 
Triumphant  breathes  their  clarion  symphony, 
Down  the  past  ages  fainter,  fainter  growing, 
Until  the  vast  array  is  lost  in  gloom  ; 
Their  waving  plumes  and  spectral  steeds  are  gone. 

IV. 

And  now  the  wailing  of  a  falling  empire 
Breaks  on  the  ear.     The  noble-hearted  king, 
Son  of  degenerate  Caesars,  but  in  soul 
Last  of  the  Romans,  dies  ;  and,  conquerors, 
Fierce  Islam's  squadrons,  like  a  torrent's  flood, 
Pour  irresistible  into  the  town. 
Resounds,  in  yells  victorious,  "  Allah  hu  !  " 


CONSTANTINOPLE,  9 

Again  !  again  !  the  war-cry  rings  to  heaven, 

With  tambour's  beat  and  chargers'  stirring  neigh ! 

The  fair  Greek  maiden,  nursed  in  luxury, 

Flies,  with  her  glossy  tresses  streaming  wild, 

Her  black  eyes  melting  with  her  frantic  woe, 

To  St.  Sophia's  shrine ;  and  innocent  child, 

And  matron  gray,  if  they  may  haply  find 

A  refuge  from  the  scimetar  that  gleams 

Through  all  the  streets.    Ah  me  !  how  vain,  how  vain  ! 

The  sanctuary's  spell  is  powerless  ! 

The  brazen  portal  yields  unto  the  hordes, 

Who  bind  their  captives  round  the  crucifix 

Whose  silver  arms  so  oft  before  had  blessed 

Those  victims  as  they  worshipped  there  in  peace. 

The  legend1  goes,  that  when  the  Janizary, 
With  sacrilegious  weapon,  would  have  slain 
The  servant  of  the  Lord,  who,  like  the  star 
That  brightest  shines  in  a  tempestuous  sky, 
Sung  out  the  holy  mass  with  heart  and  voice 
Unshaken  by  the  tumult  that  raged  round, 
A  heavenly  messenger  snatched  him  unseen, 
And,  with  the  sacred  Host,  concealed  him  there 
Within  a  secret  nook.     And  oft  since  then 
Strange  sounds  are  heard  in  the  chill  masonry, 
Filling  the  passer-by  with  silent  awe. 
'T  is  said,  that  when  the  Christian  warrior's  shout 

1  A  tradition  current  among  the  Byzantine  Greeks. 


1 0  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

Goes  up  again  in  victory  through  this  land, 

And  makes  the  dead  man  quake  in  his  last  sleep  ;   . 

When  the  fear-stricken  Turk  feels  suddenly 

Great  horror  and  the  blackness  of  despair 

Shadow  his  reeling  brain,  —  then  shall  appear, 

From  out  his  long  asylum,  tjiis  old  priest, 

And,  bearing  yet  the  same  unmouldered  Host, 

Shall  consecrate  again  the  chancel's  pale, 

By  Infidels  so  long  profaned  :  and  then 

The  joyful  anthem  through  these  cloistered  aisles 

Shall  peal  in  echo  upon  echo  vast 

Of  loud  thanksgiving,  as  it  was  erewhile 

When  King  Justinian  in  Byzantium  ruled. 

V. 

Now  music  sweeter  far  than  combat's  rude 

And  dissonant  clangor,  soothes  the  holy  calm 

Of  twilight,  floating  starwards  rhurmurously 

As  dash  of  waterfalls  in  summer  woods, 

Or  pastoral  hum  of  bees,  —  bright  fountains,  carved 

Grotesque,  spout  ceaselessly  their  beaded  spray 

Into  cool  basins  hewn  of  lustrous  marble, 

Round  which  the  rose  in  clusters  flings  her  buds, 

To  catch  the  purest  drops  that  flashing  fall. 

The  ghostly  moonlight  lingers  silently 

O'er  the  Seraglio  gardens'  velvet  sward, 

And  hearse-like  cypresses  across  the  light 

Throw  solemn  shadows.     Wreathed  with  lilies  pale. 


CONSTANTINOPLE.  11 

Fantastic  forms  are  flitting  joyously 
Around  the  raagic  founts,  who  seem  more  like 
Ethereal  sprites  that  haunt  this  Paradise, 
Than  mortal  creatures  of  terrestrial  mould. 
See  how  their  silk  cymars  wave  tremulous 
Among  the  lilacs,  as  they  skip  the  dance, 
And  blithely  carol  their  melodious  strains  ! 

SONG. 

With  fairy-like  graces, 

And  leaving  no  traces, 
We  hover  from  flower  to  flower, 
The  nymphs  of  this  moon-lighted  bower. 

We  toss  our  black  tresses 

To  the  low-sighing  breezes, 
And,  soft  as  a  dreamer's  light  fancies, 
Illume  the  dark  trees  with  our  glances. 

To  the  notes  of  our  singing 

The  moments  are  winging — 
Returning  thence  never,  ah,  never — 
To  the  land  of  the  silent  Forever. 

But  why  do  we  borrow 

Regret  from  the  morrow  ? 
Since  all  but  the  present  is  hollow, 
May  love  be  the  star  that  we  follow. 


12  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

The  fragrant  jasmines  wave  like  shooting  stars 

In  gentle  cadence  to  the  harmonies 

So  gayly  trilled  by  these  wild-warbling  sylphs  ; 

And  in  yon  neighboring  halls  illuminate 

Festivity's  perpetual  revelry 

Lulls  to  forgetfulness  of  his  domains 

The  haughty  monarch  of  these  lovely  realms. 


VI. 

Another  scene  appears.     The  howling  blast 

Sweeps  fiercely  round  the  watchtower's  dismal  walls  ; 

The  muffled  sentinel's  lone  midnight  cry 

Along  the  battlements  is  lost  amid 

The  deep,  hoarse  thunder  of  the  rolling  surf, 

Whose  foaming  crests  flash  dimly  through  the  gloom. 

A  noiseless  group  approaches,  half  obscured 

By  the  storm's  blackness,  and  their  arms  support 

A  sackcloth-shrouded  corse.     Anon  they  reach 

A  gateway  in  the  wall,  from  whence  leads  down 

A  creaking  stairway  to  the  angry  surge. 

Hist !  hark  !  a  heavy  plunge  !  —  the  deed  of  death, 

The  crime  that  no  remission  finds,  is  o'er  ! 

Zoraya  !  sweet  Zoraya  !  star  of  morn  ! 

Pearl  of  the  gay  Harem  !  —  one  short  hour  since 

Thy  playful  accents  musically  rang 

By  fretted  ceilings  in  the  festal  hall. 

Thy  lord,  he  frowned  on  thee,  O  gentle  heart, 

And  hushed  thy  voice  forever  in  the  sea ! 


CONSTANTINOPLE.  13 

Save  the  shrill  storm-blast's  melancholy  wail, 
No  dirge  is  sung  for  thee  ;  the  clouded  moon 
Looks  sadly  on  the  cormorant  wheeling  round 
Thy  deep  sea  grave,  and  through  their  veil  of  mist 
The  stars  shine  like  a  maiden's  drooping  eyes 
Suffused  with  tears ;  for,  certes,  ne'er  was  fate, 
And  ne'er  was  burial,  known  so  sad  as  thine, 
Zoraya,  O  Zoraya !  star  of  morn ! 

VII. 

Go  to,  thou  visionary !  —  thou  that  dream'st 

These  unsubstantial  fancies  of  the  brain  !  — 

Seek  not  to  weave  the  Present  with  the  Past,  — 

A  union  that  can  find  no  favor  in 

These  busy,  hurried,  calculating  days. 

Arouse  thee  from  thy  reverie  to  view 

The  westering  sun  approach  th'  horizon  dim 

Of  Marmora's  blue  wave  ;  thyself  to  find 

A  lone  recluse  among  forget-me-nots 

And  frail  anemonies,  that  rankly  strew 

The  mouldering  rampart  of  forsaken  walls, 

Which  hear  no  sound  except  the  sea-bird's  scream, 

And  the  incessant  dash  of  restless  waves 

That  murmuring  die  upon  the  shingly  shore, 

Or  hurl  the  tempest-driven  spray  above 

The  parapet.     Majestic  ships  go  by, 

Their  snowy  pinions  spread  to  every  gale  ; 

Activity  still  flourishes  among 


14  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

Th'  abodes  of  men ;  but  these  old  palaces 

And  crumbling  towers  forget  the  gladsome  sound 

Of  pleasant  footstep  and  of  cheerful  voice. 

VIII. 

Would'st  stroll  among  Serai  Bournu's1  precincts  ? 

Approach  with  heart  subdued  the  hallowed  spot ; 

Yes  !  hallowed  by  associations  sad. 

Here  thoughtful  solitude  reigns  undisturbed  : 

The  wild  bird's  song,  heard  seldom,  strangely  breaks 

The  solemn  stillness,  and  the  sun's  bright  warmth 

Lies  gloomy  on  the  grassy  terraces  ; 

The  rose-tree  and  the  weed  together  thrive, 

In  wild  but  sweet  luxuriance,  around 

The  moss-green  sculptured  fount,  that  jets  no  more 

Its  laughing  stream.     The  beauty  lingering  here 

Is  like  the  roseate  glow  on  mountain  peak, 

When  the  sun's  orb  that  lent  that  fervid  hue 

Has  set  behind  the  hills.     The  bliss  which  rang 

Whilome  so  blithely  through  these  silent  walks, 

The  souls  whose  life  imparted  life  to  these, 

O,  Spirit  of  the  Past !    canst  thou  not  tell 

Where  they  are  gone  ?  Perchance  the  vagrant  shades 

Of  all  the  beautiful,  the  innocent, 

The  mighty  and  the  brave,  who  loved  this  spot, 

Long  since  returned  to  seek  a  covert  lone 

In  these  aged  cypresses,  that  live  and  live, 

i  The  Seraglio. 


CONSTANTINOPLE.  15 

As  Destiny  had  willed  capriciously 
That  theirs  be  immortality's  sweet  boon. 

The  broken-hearted  here  may  find  a  balm. 

There  is  a  soft,  delicious  sympathy 

In  the  sad  quietude  which  soothes  the  soul  ; 

And  who  is  unacquainted  with  the  pangs 

Of  preying  sorrow  ?  —  who  that  owneth  not 

Some  little  plot  of  earth  that  claims  his  sighs  ? 

The  forlorn  spirit,  that  holds  fellowship 

Unseen  with  forms  evanished,  oftentimes 

In  loneness  feels  a  tender  influence 

Flattering  its  pains,  which  steals  th'  unbidden  tear 

From  eyes  that  griefs  intensity  had  dried, 

And  seems  t'  assuage  the  bitterness  of  woe ; 

Then  Sorrow  cometh,  veiled  in  twilight's  hues, 

A  spirit  celestial,  and  the  prescient  gaze 

Imparts  that  sees  into  eternity. 

And  they  whose  noiseless  ghosts  here  glide  unseen, 

Oft  pleasure  sowed  but  harvests  rank  to  reap 

Of  sorrow,  yea,  of  wild  adversity  ! 

The  lily  cheek,  the  sovereign's  falcon  eye, 

The  child,  the  sage,  had  each  their  turn  to  weep ; 

And  they  were  conscious,  too,  that  dizzy  life 

Creeps  on  the  margin  of  the  sepulchre, 

And  planted  long-lived  trees  in  sombre  groves, 

Whose  verdure  rarely  fades,  to  shield  their  tombs  — 

Affording  shelter  to  the  meek-eyed  dove, 

Whose  plaintive  moan  should  soothe  their  long  repose. 


16  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

IX. 

Once  on  a  time  there  lived  an  Emperor 

Whose  name  was  Yalens.     Here  he  reigned,  and  oft 

o  " 

A  Cassar's  pomp  displayed  along  the  streets 
And  sounding  gateways  of  his  capital. 
At  his  command  they  reared  an  aqueduct; 
And  stone  to  stone,  and  lofty  arch  to  arch 
Were  featly  joined,  each  to  its  neighbor,  till 
There  rose  a  stately  edifice,  that  spanned 
From  hill  to  hill  the  space.    But  now,  of  all 
The  multitudes  who  live  and  pass  away 
Within  this  fabric's  mighty  shadow,  who 
Has  ever  heard  the  perished  name  of  Valens  ? 
This  pile  stupendous  testifies  alone 
To  the  forgotten  fortunes  of  its  liege. 
The  foliage  springing  from  the  gray  cement 
Flaunts  through  these  arches  to  the  morning  sun, 
And  wavers  in  the  moonbeams  of  the  night, 
Like  funeral  banners  over  coffined  kings  ; 
While  down  the  furrowed  stones  the  water  drops 
In  tears  of  sorrow  for  a  nation's  woe. 

X. 

Behold  where  Sulymanie l  looms  up,  — 
A  hoary,  antiquated  structure,  —  vast 
But  melancholy  to  the  eye  of  him 
.  Who  stands  observant  of  its  awful  dome. 
Its  sunlit  windows  seem  like  stars  of  eve 

i  The  mosque  of  Sulym&n. 


CONSTANTINOPLE.  17 

In  the  vague,  whisperous  twilight  that  pervades 
The  cavernous  vaults  and  carven  galleries. 
The  timorous  doves,  which  hover  countlessly 
In  the  chill,  murmuring  air  from  niche  to  niche 
Among  the  sapphire  pillars,  as  they  would 
From  tree  to  tree  in  their  green,  native  woods, 
Methinks  are  symbols  of  the  sacred  peace 
That  mystically  speaks  in  the  deep  echo 
That  rises  from  the  hum  of  worshippers. 

In  the  mosque  court,  in  a  secluded  nook, 

Two  humble  cupolas  peep  quietly 

From  out  the  coverture  of  slumberous  boughs 

Almost  concealing  them.     The  meagre  wight 

Who,  shadow-like,  dwells  here,  the  devotee 

Of  a  decaying  creed,  the  stranger  tells 

That  these  are  tombs.    Oh,  doubly  happy  he, 

Who,  coming  to  the  end  of  life,  shall  find 

So  sweet  a  shelter  for  his  mouldering  dust ! 

Yes,  Sulyman,  the  conqueror  of  men, 

The  Well-Beloved,  long  since  to  stern-browed  Fate 

Resigned  the  sceptre  of  extending  power, 

And,  sore  bewailed,  was  gathered  to  his  fathers. 

Within  this  sanctuary  the  hero  lies  ; 
And  Roxellana,  she  whose  magic  name 
Thrilled  sweeter  than  aught  else  upon  his  heart, 
Wife  of  his  bosom,  in  the  other  sleeps. 
Dreamless  repose  !  pathetic  solitude  ! 
2 


18  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

Where  votive  cypress,  in  its  stillness  weird, 

Faithfully  guards  their  everlasting  slumber ; 

While  marigolds  and  fragrant  wall-flowers  bloom 

So  lonesomely  around  the  sepulchres, 

As  if  t'  attract  the  cheerful  sunlight  here. 

The  passing  traveller  sometimes  stops  to  gaze 

On  these  abodes  of  .fallen  majesty, 

Examining  the  shawls  from  far  Cashmere 

Which  shroud  the  coffins,  and  the  gems  of  price 

That  fitful  glitter  in  the  dusky  light ; 

And  then  as  listlessly  goes  on  his  way, 

And  wots  not  of  the  tender  tie  that  bound 

Those  throbless  hearts,  when  life's  emotions  gushed 

In  their  once  swelling  bosoms  ;  love  so  strong 

That  when  the  icy  touch  of  Asrafel 

Did  silence  them,  the  same  mysterious  trees 

Should  watch  them  laid  in  one  beloved  retreat ;  — 

Example  strange  of  love,  in  age  and  clime 

Sterile,  alas  !  in  true  connubial  faith. 

XI. 

Behold  the  Hippodrome  !  Wrapt  Fancy's  eye 
Ravives  the  racing  steeds,  the  Greens,  the  Blues,1 
The  victors  crowned  with  bay,  the  multitudes 
Gazing  impatient  from  the  galleries, 
The  monarchs  throned  on  high,  the  stately  queens. 
She  hears  once  more  glad  music  rise  in  swells 
Of  jubilant  symphony,  as  cymbals  clash 

i  Vide  Gibbon's  Rome,  Chap.  XI. 


CONSTANTINOPLE.  19 

With  lutes  and  mellow  horns  ;  she  hears  again 

The  cries  of  faction  drown  the  loudest  strains 

That  metal  breathes.      Time,  passing  here  in  haste, 

Could  not  delay  to  gather  all  the  spoil, 

But,  as  the  vintager  in  harvest  leaves 

Some  purple  clusters  sparkling  'neath  the  vines, 

The  reaper  of  the  world  some  gleanings  left. 

Here  stands  a  cankered  brazen  pillar,  formed 

With  triple  convolutions  serpentine ; 

It  came  from  bosky  Delphi's  sacred  fane ; 

Its  serpents,  headless  now,  once  on  their  crests 

Sustained  the  trophy  of  the  Persian's  fall.1 

O,  silver- voiced  Hyperion  !  —  grant  us  yet 

But  one  more  oracle  divine,  to  say 

If  this  aged  yet  eternal  capital, 

This  plaything  of  the  nations,  shall  once  more 

Return  unto  the  fickle  Hellene's  rule  ! 

In  vain  !  —  the  Pythia  is  tuneless  now ! 

At  Liakura's 2  foot  the  Delian's  shrine 

In  ruin  lies,  obscurely  desolate. 

***** 

XII. 

Midnight  th'  imperial  city  wraps  in  gloom  ;  • 

Silence  unbroken  holds  her  solemn  sway ; 
Christian  and  Moslem,  quick  and  dead,  lie  hushed, 
Enwrapped  in  leaden  Sleep's  lethean  pall. 


Xerxes.  '2  Mount  Parnassus. 


~0  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

To  thousands  shall  the  morrow's  sun  renew 

Life's  strange  vicissitudes.     But  many  there 

Nor  morrow's  sun,  nor  evening's  starry  host, 

Nor  flight  of  years,  shall  ever  rouse  again. 

The  clouds  brood  low,  and  there  is  music  wild, 

Sad  music,  on  the  housetops,  as  the  wind 

Whispers  disconsolate,  and  nearer  bears 

The  howling  of  the  dogs  that  haunt  the  tombs, 

And  shadows  steal  along  the  dreary  streets. 

But,  lo  !  the  sky  glares  ominously,  as  when 

Autumnal  mist  droops  o'er  a  mountain  mere, 

And  through  its  veil  the  rising  moon  displays 

A  broad  and  crimson  beacon  on  the  hills. 

The  light  grows  brighter  ;  from  afar  a  cry 

Swells  on  the  eddying  breezes,  —  "  Yangun  Var  ! " * 

Prolonged  from  house  to  house,  from  street  to  street, 

The  solemn  warning  thrills  the  hearer's  soul, 

Until  the  deep-mouthed  cannon's  sullen  boom 

Awakes  the  phantom  echoes  of  Stambul, 

And  bids  her  sleepers  rise  to  grapple  foes. 

The  sheeted  flames  roll  onward  !  —  faster  yet 

The  embers  shoot !     Thus  through  th'  eternal  gloom 

Of  Polar  skies  the  Sovran  of  the  North 

Showers  his  crackling  arrows  up  the  vault, 

And  robes  his  icy  palaces  with  light. 

Towering  aloft  in  spectral  majesty, 

The  minarets  of  many  a  sacred  mosque 

1  There  is  fire  —  the  appointed  alarm-cry  of  the  city. 


CONSTANTINOPLE.  21 

Look  from  their  lofty  posts  upon  the  scene, 

As  the  tempestuous,  fiery  billows  surge 

With  muttering  thunders  round  the  lurid  heavens ; 

While  piteous  wretches  gaze  with  streaming  eyes 

Upon  the  power  whose  rage  devours  their  homes, 

And  wring  their  hands  in  unrestrained  despair. 

XIII. 

Unhappy  city  !  where  the  tooth  of  Time, 
Forever  gnawing  at  her  holiest  shrines, 
Scarce  executes  the  stern  decrees  of  Fate, 
Who  frowns  upon  her  beauty,  and  awaits 
Impatient  for  her  doom,  —  like  fowl  obscene 
That  ravens  for  its  prey.     She  makes  allies 
The  very  elements,  —  the  boisterous  Waves, 
That  raze  her  battlements,  —  th'  impetuous  Fire, 
That  walks  the  streets  by  night,  and  publishes 
With  flaming  tongues,  to  lands  remote  and  wide, 
The  agonies  of  fallen  Zaregrad.1 

Is  this  the  city  of  whose  regal  pomps 
Cathay  heard,  and  the  far  isles  of  the  sea, 
And  wondered  at  the  tale  ?  —  the  city  clothed 
With  royalty,  and  decked  with  spoils  of  Ind  ? 
Not  such  magnificence  the  elfin  court 
Of  Oberon  displayed  in  fairy-land  ; 
Nor  such  the  wealth  Arabian  poets  sing 
To  have  embellished  Bagdad's  fountained  halls, 
As  rolling  age  on  age  was  clustered  round 

1  THE  ROYAL  CITY,  as  the  Bulgarians  call  Constantinople. 


22  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

The  peerless  rival  of  eternal  Rome. 

Superb  with  Tyrian  purple  sate  her  kings 

Upon  their  golden  thrones,  nor  dreamed  of  change  : 

Time  came,  beheld  their  pride,  and  where  are  they  ? 

The  trumpet-blast  of  Islam's  conquerors 

Pealed  o'er  these  domes  :    Time  passed,  looked  on 

their  pride, 

And  where  are  they  ?  —  are  they  forever  gone  ? 
So  fades  the  sunset's  pageantry  of  clouds  ! 
When  shall  the  humbled  city  rise  again  ? 
When  shall  her  desolation  pass  away  ? 
When  shall  she  view  reviving  glory  ?  —  when  ? 
Even  now  the  feeble  remnant  of  her  line 
Is  palsied  by  the  finger  of  Despair  : 
Nemesis,  wrapt  in  darkness,  rides  the  storm, 
And  hurls  abroad  the  thunderbolt  of  doom. 
Hark  !  on  the  toppling  towers  the  Furies  shriek  ! 
I  see  their  white  hair  streaming  to  the  winds  ! 
I  hear  their  wild,  blood-freezing  howl  of  hate  ! 

Weep,  city  of  the  Mighty  Dead  !  Oh,  weep, 
Offspring  of  wealth  and  valor  !  Beauty's  self! 
A  second  Hero,  by  the  seaside  left 
All  desolate,  to  mourn  thy  sad  estate; 
In  vain  thy  cresset's  blaze  lights  up  the  gloom, 
To  beacon  to  thine  arms  a  race  of  kings, — 
A  glorious  line,  that  shall  no  more  return  ! 
Let  the  soft  harp-strings  of  the  evening  wind 
Waft  gently  up  to  heaven  thy  sad  laments, 
And  bid  sweet  Mercy  turn  and  weep  for  thee  ! 


THE  ISLE  OF  PEARLS. 


THE  ISLE  OF  PEARLS. 


SOFT  plays  the  tide  along  the  shore, 

Soft  sighs  the  zephyr  on  the  sea, 
Soft  dips  the  fisher's  silver  oar  — 

All  sounds  make  pleasant  harmony. 
Above  th'  horizon's  distant  rim 

The  moon  is  seen,  like  midnight  ghost, 
And  o'er  the  deep  her  glances  gleam, 

And  whiten  all  the  lonely  coast. 
A  bark  rides  in  the  solemn  bay, 

Her  silken  pinions  woo  the  breeze, 
Her  sheeny  prow  is  wet  with  spray, 

And  pointed  to  the  southern  seas. 
How  beautiful  your  shadows  seem, 

O  sea,  O  shore,  O  gilded  bark, 
As,  gliding  through  my  passing  dream, 

Ye  bid  my  ear  entranced  hark 
To  the  wild  notes  that  float  away 
From  the  fair  bark  that  rides  the  bay ! 


26  THE   ISLE   OF   PEARLS. 

"  O  thou,  that  wanderest  on  the  strand, 
Gazing  upon  the  heaving  swell, 

Why  tarry  longer  on  the  land  ?  — 
To  shore  and  mountain  say  farewell, 

And,  to  the  melody  of  song, 

And  murmur  of  sweet-sighin^  sails, 

O  O  7 

In  this  brave  galley  sweep  along 

Before  the  soft  and  favoring  gales. 
Away,  away,  beyond  the  sea, 

Behold  the  star-bespangled  halls, 
Where  souls  in  harmony  agree, 

And  the  foam  sheaf  of  fountains  falls 
From  night  to  day,  from  day  to  night, 

Throughout  the  ages  as  they  go, 
While  birds  do  ever  wing  their  flight 

Above  the  floods  that  brimming  flow, 
And  roseate  pearls  and  lamps  illume 

The  bowers  that  by  the  ocean  smile, 
And  twinkle  through  the  scented  gloom 

That  cools  the  palace  of  the  isle. 
Then  come  away,  O  lingering  soul, 

Then  take  thy  midnight  flight  with  me, 
Where  the  wild  waves  more  peaceful  roll, 

And  the  lone  islet  gilds  the  sea." 

I  listened  to  the  luring  maid, 

Who  on  the  awned  poop  did  sing, 

The  while  her  veil  in  dalliance  played 
Unto  her  witching  caroling : 


THE   ISLE    OF   PEARLS.  27 

Enraptured  then,  I  leaped  aboard 

A  shallop  fastened  to  the  shore, 
And  swiftly  to  the  galley  oared, 

That  straightway  ceased  in  port  to  moor ; 
The  sails  were  trimmed  by  hands  unseen ; 

We  left  behind  a  gleaming  wake, 
That,  as  we  skimmed  the  waters  green, 

Broke  round  the  keel  in  many  a  flake. 
The  music  of  Eolian  wires 

The  lonely  voyage  did  beguile, 
Until  the  morrow's  sunset  fires 

Revealed  the  palace  of  the  isle. 
The  sun  went  down  ;  up  rose  the  moon  ; 

Rustled  the  shadowy  groves  of  palm 
Unto  a  low  and  measured  tune, 

That  whispered  of  eternal  calm. 
In  the  white  light  pavilions  shone, 

With  fluted  pillars  all  arow, 
Reminding  of  the  times  agone, 

And  mirrored  in  the  depths  below ; 
The  sound  of  waterfalls  was  heard 

From  sheltered  vales  and  sparry  caves, 
And  the  long  trill  of  twilight's  bird 

Chimed  with  the  drone  of  plunging  waves 
Trees,  hoary  with  the  vapory  spume, 

Around  the  dreamy  porches  hung, 
Diffusing  shade  and  mild  perfume 

Like  odorous  incense  censer-flung : 


28  THE   ISLE    OF   PEARLS. 

Light  such  as  one  beholds  in  dreams 
Floated  o'er  all  the  sea-girt  spires, 

While,  flitting  in  the  spectral  beams, 
Their  plumage  waved  seraphic  quires, 

And  hymned  forevermore  a  song 

That  breathed  the  death  of  sin  and  wrono-, 

O" 

And  the  mild  reign  of  soothing  peace, 
And  virtue  that  should  never  cease ; 

And  mellow-tuned  virginals 
"Were  struck  by  elves,  who  tripped  in  rows 

Fantastic  measures  through  the  halls, 
With  garlands  woven  round  their  brows : 

The  ocean  lapped  the  stairs  of  marble, 
That  green  with  aged  mosses  were, 

As,  by  their  music's  amorous  warble 
Attracted  in,  I  landed  there. 

A  diadem  of  pearls  was  hung 
Down  from  the  midst  o*  the  centre  dome, 

And  round  it  were  these  accents  sung 
By  a  fair  group,  all  mirth  and  bloom. 


"  What  are  days  and  months  and  year?, 

What  is  age  and  what  is  time, 
Unto  those  who  shed  no  tears, 

And  behold  no  grief  or  crime  ? 
For  we  mark  the  fleeting  hours 
By  the  blooming  of  the  flowers 
Which  are  nursed  in  amaranthine  bowers. 


THE   ISLE    OF   PEARLS.  29 

"  Round  these  arches  high  festoon 

Wreaths  of  lilies  dropped  with  dew  ; 
Ope  the  lattice  —  let  the  moon 

Stream  its  wizard  radiance  through, 
Stealing  o'er  mosaic  floors, 
While  we  dance  away  the  hours 
In  the  shadow  of  enchanted  towers. 

"  Hangs  upon  the  string  a  pearl 

For  each  one  of  us  that  sings ;  — 
Sorrow  shall  her  pinions  furl, 

Glad  shall  sound  our  murmurings, 
And  those  pearls  like  stars  shall  shine, 
While  unitedly  we  join 
In  the  strain  of  melodies  divine. 

"  Concord  rules  the  Sacred  Seven, 

Tuning  all  the  starry  throng  ; 
Harmony  is  found  in  heaven, 

Angel's  theme  and  seraph's  song. 
Guardian  of  the  chiming  spheres, 
Listen  to  our  sister  prayers, 
And  preserve  our  isle  from  sorrow's  cares. 

"  For  if  sorrow  enter  here, 

Yonder  pearls  would  soon  grow  dim ; 
These  arcades  would  disappear  ; 

Hushed  would  be  our  evening  hymn. 


30  THE   ISLE   OF   PEARLS. 

Then,  sweet  Spirit  of  the  spheres, 
Listen  to  our  sister  prayers, 
And  preserve  our  isle  from  sorrow's  cares." 


The  strain  through  arc  and  oriel 
In  breezy  whispers  kissed  the  deep ; 

The  halcyon  floating  on  the  swell 

Woke  raptured  from  her  midnight  sleep ; 

And  in  the  emerald  depths  profound 

The  mermaids  heard  the  eddying  sound. 

II. 

Methought  a  change  passed  through  my  dream  ; 

A  grisly  shape,  with  raven  plume, 
Perched  on  a  pinnacle  did  seem 

Like  owlet  on  an  ancient  tomb  ; 
The  diadem  began  to  fade, 

The  singer's  music  ceased  to  flow, 
The  moon's  soft  splendor  grew  more  sad, 

And  over  all  a  "  nameless  woe  " — 
Mute  desolation's  silent  spell  — 
Spread  like  a  mourner's  sable  veil. 
Fair  as  the  clustering  Pleiades, 

Linked  hand  in  hand,  the  sister's  stood 
Upon  the  airy  terraces 

That  overarchedthe  solemn  flood. 


THE   ISLE   OF   PEARLS.  81 

But  one,  the  queenliest  of  the  band, 
To  seaward  waved  her  ivory  hand, 
Standing  apart,  nigh  to  the  edge 
Of  the  high  gallery's  outer  ledge. 
Pale  jessamine  her  dainty  wrists 

And  flowing  tresses  garlanded  ; 
Her  vesture  clasped  her  form  as  mists 

Clothe  pensive  Morning's  radiant  head. 
Majestic  grace  was  on  her  brow  — 

She  seemed  in  act  to  mount  above  — 
Yet  throbbed  her  bosom  with  the  glow 

Of  woman's  deep,  undying  love. 
Pure-eyed  she  was  —  one  that  would  die 
For  him  who  claimed  her  fondest  sigh. 

By  this  the  moon  hung  very  low ; 

And  o'er  the  waters  dark  and  lone 
The  night  wind  wailed  a  sound  of  woe, 

And  the  stars,  one  by  one,  went  down. 
"  Last  night  he  called  —  this  night  he  calls," 

The  Nereid  to  her  sisters  spake  ; 
"  I  must  forsake  my  native  halls, 

Before  the  glimmering  morning  break. 
O  love  !  I  list  his  murmuring  shell  — 

I  can  no  longer  tarry  here  : 
Farewell,  sweet  sisters,  fare  ye  well ! 

Why  shed  the  unavailing  tear  ? 
Why  should  your  guileless  bosoms  mourn  ? 
Shall  I  not  hither  soon  return  ? 


THE   ISLE    OF   PEARLS. 

Enchanter  of  the  mystic  sea  ! 

I  faint  with  love  —  I  come  to  thee  ! " 

The  maiden  wrapped  her  white  cymar 

More  close  around  her  limbs  of  snow, 
Then  dropping  like  a  falling  star, 

Plunged  in  the  moaning  flood  below. 
In  vain  the  sisters,  all  forlorn, 

Upon  the  rivage  watched  the  main, 
If  haply  with  some  rising  morn 

The  lost  one  should  return  again. 
The  elfish  cressets  lit  no  more 
The  fairy  palace  on  the  shore  ; 
Nor  did  the  pearly  diadem 
At  any  time  its  radiance  beam. 
The  dusky  bird,  that  Woe  was  hight, 

Forevermore  its  station  kept, 
And  through  each  long,  long,  lingering  night 

The  statue-fountains  ceaseless  wept. 
The  flocks,  that  tender  grasses  nibbled 

Upon  the  island's  pastoral  swells, 
No  longer  browsed  where  runnels  dribbled, 

Nor  shook  at  dusk  their  rural  bells  ; 
For  they  who  wont  to  feed  their  lambs, 

And  drive  them  forth  at  dewy  dawn, 
Or  lead  them  'neath  umbrageous  palms 

At  highest  noon,  were  now  forlorn, 
Weeping  beside  the  sounding  sea 
For  their  lost  queen  incessantly  — 
The  shepherdess  whose  gentle  soul 


THE   ISLE   OF    PEARLS. 

Delighted  in  the  lambkin's  bleat ; 
The  virgin  fair  who  nightly  stole 

O'er  paven  floors  with  nimble  feet, 
And  in  the  blaze  of  flashing  torches 
Attuned  soft  strains  through  echoing  porches. 
But  ne'er  again  the  Nereid  came, 
Nor  with  the  morn  or  sunset  flame. 

Then  on  the  bark  that  brought  me  there 
I  stepped  aboard ;  the  gale  was  fair ; 
And  soon  below  the  ocean's  blue 
The  lonely  isle  was  lost  to  view. 


THE  SAILOR-BOY, 


THE  SAILOR-BOY. 


'T  WAS  Autumn.    By  the  lane  the  farm-house  stood, 

Th'  abode  of  peace  and  plenty.     Slowly  curled 

The  smoke  above  the  chimney,  purple  wreaths 

Illumined  by  the  sunset,  and  the  cock 

Crew  in  the  barnyard  all  the  livelong  hours. 

Before  the  door  the  farmer's  daughter  trained 

The  clambering  honeysuckle,  and  the  while 

Murmured  a  simple  ditty  wild  with  love. 

Her  urchin  brothers  gambolled  by  the  brook 

That  warbled  through  the  wood  and  down  the  lane  ; 

This  launched  his  tiny  boat  upon  the  stream. 

Those  built  a  mimic  dam,  and  shouted  loud 

With  childish  glee.     The  jocund  watch-dog  bayed 

Unto  the  flying  echoes,  and  the  crow 

Flapped  dreamy  pinions  in  the  stilly  air. 

Dim  through  the  thin  and  melancholy  mist 

Of  Indian  Summer  rose  the  russet  hills, 

And  on  the  village  spire,  a  far-off  flame, 

The  -vane  gleamed  like  a  solitary  star. 

But,  hark  !  upon  the  yellow  leaves  that  strew 


38  THE   SAILOR-BOY. 

The  shady  path,  a  faltering  step  is  heard. 

A  youth  is  seen  approaching,  on  his  staff 

Leaning  most  wearily.     His  tattered  garb 

Scarce  hides  his  wasted  form  ;  and  what  a  tale 

Of  sore  distress  his  sunken  eye,  wan  cheek, 

And  bloodless  lip  declare  !     The  lads  forsake 

Their  noisy  sport,  abashed,  as  they  behold 

A  stranger  ;  and  old  Rover  wistful  looks 

Into  the  wanderer's  face,  who  now  has  reached 

The  quiet  homestead.     "  Give  me  but  a  crust, 

A  meagre  crust,  sweet  maiden  ;  I  am  faint," 

He  said  unto  the  damsel  by  the  door, 

And  then  sank  down  upon  the  mossy  trunk 

Of  a  long-fallen  oak,  oppressed  with  pain. 

Quickly  her  gentle  eye  discerned  the  woe 

Which  mastered  him,  and,  with  a  voice  that  broke 

Upon  his  ear  like  moonlight  on  the  sea, 

When  it  is  troubled  by  tumultuous  winds, 

She  answered  :  "  Enter ;  rest  thee,  traveller ;  —  soo:i 

From  pasture  will  the  kine  return,  and  then 

The  foaming  milk,  warm  in  the  brimming  bowl, 

Thy  vigor  shalt  restore."     His  following  eye 

Spake  gratitude,  when,  seated  'neath  the  roof, 

Beside  the  blazing  hearth,  he  watched  the  grace 

With  which  the  farmer's  daughter  blessed  her  hom<\ 

"  Tarry  with  us  this  night ;  the  morrow  morn 
Depart  refreshed,"  the  hale  old  farmer  said. 
Therefore  he  tarried,  and  beguiled  the  hours 


THF   SAILOR-BOY.  39 

Of  the  long  autumn  evening  with  the  tale 

Of  his  late  woes  and  wanderings.     Thus  it  ran  : 

"  Fair  blew  the  breezes  when  we  sailed  from  port. 
Day  after  day  our  clipper  southward  sped, 
For  we  were  bound  unto  the  land  of  gold. 
Six  nights  we  ploughed  the  main ;  the  seventh  brought 
Thick  darkness  o'er  the  deep.    Then  shrieked  the  gale 
Through  straining  cordage,  and  the  rent  sails  flapped 
Like  demons'  pinions  in  the  murky  gloom. 
From  billow  on  to  billow  plunged  the  prow ; 
And  in  the  midst  we  heard  the  cry  of  fire. 
Forth  from  the  hatches  burst  the  stifling  smoke ;  . 
The  wild  winds  breathed  with  fury  on  the  flames  ; 
The  embers  flew  across  the  reeling  deck,  — 
A  crackling  shower,  —  and  the  thundering  fires 
Leaped  up  the  tapering  masts,  and  licked  the  sails 
From  the  slant  yards,  and  kissed  the  driving  clouds. 
The  Captain  shouted  :  "  To  the  boats  ! "  in  haste 
We  launched  away  ;   the  longboat  and  the  yawl, 
Upon  the  stormy  waters  tossing,  bore 
Twelve  souls,  to  fearful  thirst  and  famine  doomed. 
Before  us  drove  our  bark  ;  athwart  her  sides 
The  furnace  glowed  ;  her  ribs  were  ribs  of  fire. 
The  tempest  tossed  the  burning  ropes  aloft 
Like  fiery  serpents,  and  the  maddened  surge 
That  lashed  her  noble  prow,  was  all  aflame 
Beneath  that  ruddy  blaze  —  the  sheeted  foam 
Was  like  to  foam  of  blood.     Far  o'er  the  sea 


40  THE   SAILOR-BOY. 

The  supernatural  glare  made  midnight's  gloom 
More  horrible.     But  suddenly  it  paled, 
And  then  went  out  in  darkness.     On  the  waves 
/We  drifted  till  the  cold,  gray  dawn  arrived. 
But  when  the  morning  broke,  my  shipmates  peered 
Through  the  salt  mist  of  driving  spray,  with  eyes 
Made  keen  by  fierce  despair,  but  spied  in  vain. 
No  comrade  boat  was  visible  ;  alone 
We  rode  the  sad,  interminable  waste 
Of  ocean;  land,  nor  sail,  nor  sun,  in  sight. 
The  billows  snapped  our  oars  ;  we  had  no  mast ; 
We  were  the  playthings  of  the  storm,  and  sat 
Upon  the  crazy  thwarts  disconsolate, 
Wan-featured,  hopeless,  save  that  each  did  hope 
The  bitter  pleasure  of  first  hailing  death. 

"  Three  days  we  buffeted  the  hurricane, 

And  toiled  with  failing  strength  to  keep  afloat, 

Shifting  from  side  to  side,  as  hung  the  surge 

Impending  o'er  the  gunwale  ;  but  the  fourth 

Came,  ushering  calms,  and  burning  heat,  and  thirst. 

That  quickly  drained  our  water's  scanty  store. 

The  seventh  day,  at  dawn,  a  gray-haired  man 

Drew  a  long  sigh  and  died.     With  trembling  hands 

We  gave  the  carcass  to  the  deep,  but  shed 

No  pitying  tears  ;  for  each  did  envy  him 

His  timely  fate.     The  eighth  sad  dawn  revealed 

Two  stark  and  rigid  corpses  in  the  boat ; 

Their  fixed,  glazed  eyeballs  glared  so  fearfully 


THE   SAILOR-BOY.  41 

Upon  us,  that  we  shuddered  as  with  cold, 

Although  the  sun's  fierce  ardor  showered  heat 

Over  the  simmering  sea.     We  quailed  beneath 

The  dead  men's  gaze  ;  therefore  we  mustered  strength 

To  heave  them  overboard.     But  two  were  left. 

My  comrade  perched  himself  upon  the  bow  ; 

I  sat  me  in  the  stern.     The  day  wore  on  ;  — 

We  dozed  and  dreamed  wild  dreams  ;  —  we  syllabled 

Strange,  incoherent  ravings  ;  but  we  dared 

Not  glance  into  each  other's  eye  ;  —  each  feared 

That  he  might  soon  be  food  to  satisfy 

His  neighbor's  cravings,  and  we  groaned  aloud. 

"  That  evening,  as  the  crimson  moon  drew  nigh 
The  ocean,  dashing  o'er  the  shifting  waves 
A  spectral  gleam,  and  on  my  comrade's  face 
A  ghastly  hue,  I  heard  a  sudden  plunge,  — 
I  looked,  and  he  was  gone  !     Perchance  a  fit 
Had  stiffened  his  weak  frame  ;  perchance  despair 
Had  urged  him  to  his  doom.     I  spied  a  shark, 
With  hungry  maw,  slide  all  his  fearful  length 
Through  the  green  water,  by  the  tossing  boat, 
Where  moon-lit  bubbles  showed  the  corpse  had  sunk  ; 
And  then  I  thanked  my  God,  who  saved  his  child 
'  From  the  dark  sin  of  tasting  human  flesh. 

"  Vanished  the  moon.     The  ripples  lapped  the  boat. 
Which  wandered  solitary  on  the  sea. 


42  THE   SAILOR-BOY. 

I  heard  the  low,  shrill  winds,  in  dreary  sobs, 

Ruffling  the  tranquil  ocean  all  that  night, 

That  dreadful  night,  when  I  was  all  alone  ;  — 

Yet  not  alone.     Around  me  in  the  air 

Weird  voices  whispered ;  and  where  he  had  sat, 

My  latest  shipmate,  now  I  saw  a  shape 

Of  spectral  whiteness,  skeleton  of  form, 

And  gazing  steadfastly  through  me  with  eyes 

That  curdled  all  my  blood  with  their  fixed  spell ; 

The  while  the  apparition  seemed  to  say, 

6  Thou,  too,  art  mine  ! '     I  was  alone  with  Death ! 

The  pangs  of  hunger,  which  had  gnawed  my  flesh, 

Were  then  as  naught  beside  the  terrible  dreams 

That  in  the  wild,  appalling  solitude 

Haunted  and  tortured  me.     I  fled  along 

The  margin  of  a  precipice.     Above 

Beetled  an  adamantine  wall ;  beneath 

There  plunged  a  bottomless  abyss,  from  whence 

Arose  the  wailing  cries  of  dying  souls  ; 

And  ever  as  I  ran  that  giddy  race 

A  spectre  dogged  my  steps.     Eternity 

Seemed  all  too  short  to  fly  the  fearful  fiend ! 

He  stretched  his  arm  to  clutch  my  hair,  —  I  shrieked, 

And,  shrieking,  woke  ;  but  woke  to  see  those  eyes, 

Those  dreadful  eyes,  turned  steadily  on  mine ;  — 

Those  bloody  eyes,  whose  serpent  gaze  is  burned 

With  such  intensity  upon  my  brain, 

That  to  this  day  their  memory  thrills  my  soul. 


THE    SAILOR-BOY.  43 

"  I  dreamed  and  woke  alternately,  and  thus 
That  night  of  agony  wore  on.     At  last 
The  morning  broke,  and  brought  my  spirit  peace. 
The  wind  had  wafted  south  the  drifting  boat, 
And  to  the  leeward  lay  an  Indian  isle. 
Then,  as  I  floated  shoreward,  on  the  ridge 
Of  craggy  mountains  I  discerned  the  groves 
Of  cocoa  pencilled  'gainst  the  sky, 
And  saw  the  thin,  blue  spires  of  smoke  ascend 
Above  the  tree-tops,  where  the  islanders 
Nestled  in  wattled  huts  among  the  woods. 
A  bird  flew  off  from  land,  and  hovered  round 
My  tempest-beaten  head,  and  perched  itself 
Upon  the  boat-side,  pouring  forth  such  strains 
Of  rapturous  melody  from  its  glad  throat 
That  brimming  tears  suffused  my  parche'd  eyes. 
They  saw  me  not  on  shore,  or,  if  they  saw, 
Thought  me,  perchance,  a  fisher  of  their  tribe  ; 
And  thus,  when  evening  came,  and  up  the  vault 
The  sun  shot  rosy  gleams  before  he  sank 
Behind  the  slender  palms,  the  veering  wind 
Blew  gently  off  the  bay,  and  bore  my  skiff 
Again  to  sea.     Soft,  odorous  balms  were  blown 
On  the  mild  breeze,  and,  in  the  dewy  dusk, 
The  island's  star-like  torches  twinkled  o'er 
The  peaceful  water.     Then  I  might  have  wept 
To  leave  so  fair  a  prospect,  which  allured 
My  desolate  soul  with  beauty  as  of  Eden  ; 
But  in  my  troubled  bosom  now  there  reigned 


44  THE   SAILOR-BOY. 

A  settled  calm  ;  too  weak  was  I  to  rave  ; 

I  felt  resigned  to  my  approaching  fate. 

But  now,  where  Death  had  kept  his  watch  abhorred, 

A  seraph  lighted,  waving  golden  plumes, 

As  if  to  pilot  me  to  that  unknown, 

Mysterious  sea  to  which  we  all  are  bound. 

Above  me,  in  the  firmament  serene, 

The  Southern  Cross  with  marvellous  splendor  shone, 

Symbol  of  Him  who  died  upon  the  tree  : 

And  as  I  watched  that  night  the  wondrous  sign, 

Awe,  blent  with  fervent  love,  o'erpowered  my  soul, 

Until  sweet  slumber  kissed  my  wearied  lids. 

"  I  saw  again  in  dreams  my  boyhood's  home,  — 
The  gambrel  cottage,  with  its  quaint  old  roof, 
Beneath  whose  mossy  eaves  the  swallows  sang ; 
Over  the  chimney  waved  the  weeping  elm 
To  the  low  west  wind ;  in  the  corniields  gleamed 
The  golden  maize  —  the  farmer's  joy ;  near  by 
Murmured  the  grove  of  pines,  with  bickering  brooks 
Gambolling  around  the  rugged  roots,  and  forth 
Into  the  meadow  stealing.     In  the  fields, 
And  up  the  hollow  by  the  river,  rang 
The  voices  of  haymakers,  and  the  air 
Wafted  the  fragrance  of  the  tedded  grass. 
And  then  I  wandered  to  the  well,  and  slaked 
My  thirst  out  of  the  bucket  round  whose  brim 
Sparkled  the  gushing  dew  ;  and  as  I  drank, 
Behold,  reflected  in  the  well,  a  face, 


THE    SAILOR-BOY.  45 

And  when  I  looked,  lo !  at  m j  side  she  stood  — 

The  sister  of  my  boyhood,  golden-haired, 

With  eyes  that  spake  to  me  of  heaven.     My  sweet. 

My  own  swreet  sister  Alice  !  thou  hast  lain 

In  the  cold  graveyard  winters  four ;  yet  then 

Thou  didst  return  and  bless  me  with  thy  love, 

As  in  my  childhood.     When  I  sailed  alone 

In  unimaginable  solitude 

Upon  the  solemn,  melancholy  sea,- 

Thy  voice  was  music  to  my  fainting  soul ! 

Before  the  open  window  she,  so  long 

Father  and  mother  to  me,  sat  and  read 

In  her  ancestral  Bible  of  that  world 

Whose  glories  were  reflected  on  her  brow. 

"  But  all  things  had  a  vague,  unearthly  hue  ; 

I  knew  't  was  but  a  dream  within  a  dream. 

Even  the  magic  rustle  of  the  leaves 

Now  seemed  like  phantom  echoes  wafted  down 

From  nations  sepulchred  in  dust  and  gloom 

Centuries  ago.     And  then  my  vision  changed. 

I  heard  the  peal  of  lordly  music  roll 

Over  an  eastern  landscape ;  and  I  saw 

A  stately  host,  with  royalty  and  pomp, 

Magnificently  marching,  days  and  days, 

Unto  a  rampired  city  far  away 

In  the  sand  desert ;  but  when  they  had  gained 

The  open  gates  the  habitants  had  fled 

Their  capital,  and  all  the  wells  were  dry. 


46  THE   SAILOR-BOY. 

And  thus  the  wretches,  overcome  by  thirst, 
Crowded  around  the  fountains  that  gave  forth 
No  water,  looked  to  heaven,  and,  gasping,  died. 
In  the  lone  streets  their  whitened  bones  were  strown, 
And  vultures  garrisoned  the  battlements. 

"  The  thought  of  that  parched  multitude  renewed 

Th'  intolerable  thirst  that  burned  my  tongue, 

And  fevered  all  my  brain  with  agony, 

Which,  as  I  woke,  convulsed  my  shrivelled  frame 

With  such  stern  anguish  that  mortality 

Seemed  loosening  her  bonds.     At  that  dark  hour,  — 

That  moment  fraught  with  death,  —  my  sinking  eye 

Beheld  a  sail !  —  a  sail !  it  was  a  sail, 

A  real  vessel,  skimming  o'er  the  waves  ! 

Oh !  in  my  sailor  wanderings  I  have  seen 

Full  many  a  noble  spectacle ;  but  when 

My  raptured  vision  fell  upon  that  ship, 

And  saw  her  masts  aspiring  to  the  skies, 

Her  royals  purpled  by  the  radiant  flush 

That  heralded  the  yet  unrisen  sun, 

Her  courses  swelling  to  the  morning  breeze, 

The   foam-flakes  wreathing   round  her  keen,  sharp 

prow, 

And  majesty  and  beauty  in  her  shape, 
As,  with  a  swan-like  motion,  o'er  the  sea 
She  glided ;  then  I  thought  that  human  eye 
Had  never  rested  on  a  sight  more  fair, 
More  noble,  than  that  bark  which  brought  me  life. 


THE   SAILOR-BOY.  47 

"  With  ecstasy  I  leaped  up  in  the  boat. 

But  in  a  swoon  fell  back.     I  knew  no  more 

Until  my  hot,  sere  eyeballs  were  unsealed 

To  gaze  on  pitying  eyes,  and  see  a  form 

Of  angel  loveliness  beside  my  couch, 

With  cooling  drink  and  words  that  murmured  peace. 

Slowly  my  strength  returned ;  and  when  we  reached 

The  destined  port,  I  crept  on  deck  to  view 

The  looming  harbor.     To  the  wharves  we  moored, 

And  then  the  hospital  became  my  home  : 

And  there  I  lingered  till  they  said  to  me 

'  Go  —  let  another  take  thy  bed/     I  went, 

Knowing  too  well  that  but  a  short  reprieve 

Was  granted  me  of  life ;  and  then  I  thought, 

6  My  voyage  is  almost  o'er  —  the  haven 's  near 

In  which  my  shattered  hulk  shall  moor  forever ;  . 

Therefore  I  '11  seek  my  boyhood's  roof,  and  die 

With  my  dear  mother's  hand  upon  my  brow.' 

And  thither  now  I  journey ;  but  methinks 

I  ne'er  shall  reach  it  more.     My  tale  is  done. 

But  when  the  wild  winds  howl  aloof,  then  pray 

For  the  poor  mariner  who  roams  the  sea, 

And  climbs  the  slippery  mast,  and  hears  the  peal 

Of  midnight  thunder  shake  his  tossing  bark." 

And  yet  the  tale  was  not  all  told.     That  night 
Death  came,  not  on  the  solitary  deep, 
But  in  the  moonlit  chamber  where  the  youth 
Had  laid  him  down  to  slumber.     Death  was  now 


48  THE    SAILOR-BOY. 

No  spectre,  but  an  angel  bringing  sleep. 

And  the  youth  slept ;  and  when  the  swallow  hailed 

The  morrow  morn,  nor  waked  the  sailor-boy, 

The  kindly  farmer  sought  the  sleeper's  room, 

And  found  him  dead.     A  placid  beauty  veiled 

The  sunken  features,  and  his  silken  hair 

Curled  on  the  marble  brow  most  tenderly. 

With  many  tears  the  gathering  villagers 

Buried  the  stranger  in  the  silent  grave, 

And  marked  it  with  a  slab,  and  wrote  thereon, 

;i  SWEET  TO  THE  WEARY  MARINER  is  REST." 


ERIC  AND  EDITH; 

A    TALE     OF    THE     NORTH 


ERIC  AND  EDITH; 

A    TALE    OF    THE    NORTH, 


THERE  was  high  wassail  in  the  Norseman  town  : 
The  daring  corsairs  of  the  foaming  seas 
Had  moored  their  barks  once  more  within  the  port 
From  whence  they  hailed,  and  all  their  kith  and  clan 
Now  welcomed  them  with  boisterous  mirth.  Loud  rang 
The  berserk's  song ;  wild  were  the  tales  they  told, 
As  maidens  passed  the  mead,  and  eagle  eyes 
Did  sparkle  o'er  the  sparkling  beaker's  brim. 

But  Eric,  by  the  revelers  unobserved, 

Stole  to  the  castle  turret,  there  to  find 

His  Edith  waiting  for  her  love.     Two  years 

Had  lent  her  flaxen  locks  a  darker  hue, 

And  to  her  form  imparted  riper  grace ;  — 

Two  years  had  lit  his  eye  with  nobler  fire, 

With  manlier  thew  and  sinew  knit  his  frame, 

Since  last  they  met.    Their  eyes  spake  welcome  sweet, 

Spake  words  of  rapture,  which  their  speechless  lips 


52  ERIC   AND    EDITH. 

Essayed  not.     Thus  the  moments  sped,  until 

The  moon  loomed  o'er  the  northern  sea,  and  beamed 

Her  holy  benison  upon  their  vows. 

Then  Eric's  heart  found  utterance  in  this  wise  : 

"  My  Edith,  when  I  told  thee  of  my  love, 
These  many  moons  ago,  thou  didst  confess 
The  warmth  of  thy  affection,  saying  still, 
%  And  if  indeed  thou  lov'st  me,  let  me  have 
A  token  that  thy  heart  is  true.     Unfurl 
Thy  galley's  idle  sails,  and  southward  steer, 
Where  lie  those  gorgeous  lands  of  which  they  tell 
Such  wondrous  legends.     Be  a  hero  now  ;  — 
Not  only  for  the  glory  of  thy  name, 
But  for  the  love  thou  bear'st  to  Edith,  brave 
And  overcome  new  perils.'     I  have  been. 
Yes,  where  the  citron's  golden  fruitage  breathes 
Its  languid  odors  over  sapphire  seas  ; 
Where  olive-skirted  hamlets  seem  to  hang 
In  air  high  up  the  mountain  sides ;  where  towers, 
White  in  the  sun,  crown  every  cape,  and  speak 
Of  long-departed  power ;  where  vineyards  clothe 
The  various  landscape,  —  there  the  Viking's  keel 
Adventurous  has  glided.     There,  at  dead 
Of  night,  I  've  landed  on  th'  unguarded  coast, 
And  stormed  the  Southron's  hold,  and  borne  away 
Unnumbered  spoils  or  ever  dawn  appeared. 
And  there,  in  Rome's  imperial  capital, 
I  climbed  prodigious  ruins,  and  did  hear 


ERIC    AND    EDITH.  53 

In  the  mysterious  twilight  awful  sounds, 

The  din  of  vanished  generations,  like 

The  roar  of  distant  tempests  through  the  pines 

Of  Norway's  forests.     But  a  soft,  low  voice 

Came  murmuring  to  my  ear,  that  said, '  My  love, 

Come  home,  come  home ! '     Then,  with  exulting  soul, 

I  shouted,  '  Northward  turn  the  iron  beak 

Of  the  War  Eagle,  for  our  cruise  is  done ! ' 

And  when  the  storm-winds  rose  in  wrath  to  check 

Our  homeward  course,  and  swept  the  deck  with  sleet 

And  foam,  —  when  in  the  blackening  midnight  quailed 

The  stoutest  heart,  —  I  saw  thy  chosen  star, 

The  polar  star,  gleam  through  the  driving  scud, 

And  kiss  the  angry  waves  with  argent  beam  ;  — 

The  thought  of  thee  rekindled  hope  ;  I  grasped 

The  rudder,  and  we  rode  the  blast  unharmed. 

And  when  we  neared  Scandinia's  misty  coast, 

Two  many-bucklered  prores  bore  down.     Thy  love 

Gave  vigor  to  my  arm ;  and  this  we  sunk, 

With  all  her  bearded  crew,  and  that  I  brought 

To  port,  a  token  of  my  love.     Lo  !  where 

She  lies  in  yonder  haven,  black-hulled  and  huge 

In  the  broad  moon's  white  shadow.    And  behold 

These  clustering  pearls,  a  queenly  diadem, 

Another  token  of  my  passion,  gained 

What  time  I  gained  this  scar.     But  what  are  all 

Affection's  tributes  worth  if  once  compared 

With  th'  undivided  offering  of  the  heart  — 

The  true  heart  of  a  hero  ?  —  Such  I  gave 


54  ERIC   AND   EDITH. 

My  Edith  long  ago.     And  now  what  more 
Desires  my  dove,  the  darling  of  my  soul? " 

The  maiden  gazed  into  the  warrior's  face 

With  look  of  love,  and  pride,  and  gratitude, 

Yet  mingled  with  a  vague,  unsatisfied 

Expression  in  her  eye.     At  length  she  said  : 

"  Thou  know'st  I  love  thee,  and  I  trust  thy  faith, 

Thou  noble  heart  and  true ;  and  still  before 

I  yield  myself  to  thee  a  willing  slave, 

I  fain  would  prove  thee  further  ;  't  is  a  freak  — 

A  foolish  maiden's  freak  —  but  yet  a  freak 

I  cherish.     Thou  hast  vowed  that  thou  wouldst  die 

If  love  should  doom  thee  so.     And  now  I  pray 

This  boon : ' —  Explore  the  ocean  bound  with  ice, 

A  thousand  leagues  away,  and  bring  me  thence 

A  robe  of  fur,  the  silver  fox's  dower 

Unto  thy  bride.    My  heart  shall  speed  thy  prow, 

And  when  thou  art  returned,  then  call  me  thine/' 

I 

Days  passed,  and  Eric,  beautiful  as  Balder, 
Strode  on  his  deck  and  mustered  all  his  crew 
Of  grim  marauders,  gave  his  swelling  sheet 
Unto  the  winds,  and  sailed  into  the  North. 

The  slow  moons  waxed  and  waned,  until  the  light 
Of  a  full  score  had  faded  from  the  skies, 
Nor  did  the  long-departed  bark  return  ; 


ERIC   AND    EDITH.  55 

And  when  Norwegian  galleys  made  the  port 
From  time  to  time,  men,  women,  children,  flocked 
Along  the  strand  to  meet  the  voyagers, 
Demanding  loudly,  "  Have  ye  nowhere  seen 
The  Day  Star  of  the  North  upon  the  seas, 
Adventurous  Eric  ?     Have  ye  nowhere  hailed 
The  proud  War  Eagle  on  the  mighty  main, 
Snorting  the  foam-flakes  from  her  iron  prow  ?  " 
And  all  with  one  accord  replied,  "  Nowhere, 
Nor  in  the  south,  nor  in  the  far-off  waste 
Of  waves,  where  bathes  the  sun  his  burning  brow, 
Nor  in  the  north,  have  we  beheld  the  hero." 
And  there  was  grief,  heart-breaking  grief,  I  ween, 
In  the  dun  tower  that  watched  the  roaring  sea. 
Through  the  long  nights,  that  grew  more  long,  until 
Unbroken  night  seemed  hovering  o'er  her  soul, 
Edith  her  vigils  kept,  and  trimmed  her  lamp 
To  guide  the  wanderer  home.     Why  did  he  tarry  ? 
Alas  for  swan-necked  Edith !     Knew  he  not 
That  her  soft  eye  was  red  with  tears  ?  —  that  love 
For  him,  and  expectation  unfulfilled, 
Had  stolen  the  blush  of  gladness  from  her  cheek  ? 
Alas  for  Edith  !  —  why  did  Eric  tarry? 

But  when  the  third  sweet  springtime  had  returned, 
And  loosed  the  waters  of  the  northern  meres, 
And  breathed  its  magic  through  the  forest  firs, 
Then  Harold,  chieftain  of  the  flowing  hair, 
Brother  to  Edith,  said :  "  My  sister,  cease 


56  ERIC   AND   EDITH. 

Thy  wailing ;  for  the  love  I  bear  to  thee, 
And  for  that  I  remember  me  of  all 
The  scenes  of  happiness  that  we  enjoyed 
In  childhood's  days  together,  and  because 
Thy  Eric  was  my  friend,  I  '11  launch  my  keel, 
And  search  the  ice-bound  sea  until  I  find, 
And  to  thy  heart  restore,  the  long-lost  lover. 
Now,  therefore,  sweet  my  sister,  weep  no  more." 

Again  a  year  passed  by  ;  and  then  it  chanced 
Upon  an  evening  when  the  clouds  grew  black 
Above  the  ocean,  and  the  white  seamews 
'Gan  prophesy  a  storm,  and  all  the  ships 
Were  safely  moored  ashore,  there  sped  a  youth 
Into  the  town  with  tidings.     u  Norsemen,  ho  ! 
Harold  the  yellow -haired  has  come  —  is  here  ! " 
Thence  to  the  castle  straight  the  stripling  ran 
Wide-mouthed,  loud-heralding  to  all  he  met, 
"  Harold  the  yellow-haired  has  come  —  is  here  ! " 

That  night  a  storm  swept  o'er  those  northern  lands. 
Such  as  the  oldest  there  had  never  known  ; 
But  in  the  castle  hall  nor  boom  of  surf 
Nor  thundering  winds  were  heeded.     Round  the  fire 
The  Norsemen  gathered,  while  the  crackling  flames 
Roared  up  the  chimney,  casting  elfish  gleams 
Over  grim  features  rough  from  fight  and  storm ; 
And  with  his  vassals  sat  the  aged  Jarl, 


ERIC   AND    EDITH.  57 

In  the  accustomed  corner,  and  he  quaffed 
The  foaming  mead,  and  stroked  his  snowy  beard, 
And  gazed  with  pride  upon  his  first-born  —  Harold  ; 
While  Edith  sat,  with  eyes  bedimmed  by  tears, 
Between  her  brother  and  her  sire.     And  then 
Did  Harold  thus  rehearse  his  mournful  tale. 

"  Northwest  we  sailed  for  many  days.     Thick  clouds 

And  dripping  mist  o'er-canopied  our  bark, 

And  the  keen  air  grew  colder  evermore. 

Nor  moon  nor  stars  were  seen.     Once,  at  high  noon, 

The  sun,  well-nigh  eclipsed,  was  dim  descried  — 

A  ball  of  copper  driving  through  the  scud. 

At  length  the  fog-clouds  fled,  and  far  away 

All  the  blue  offing  gleamed  with  glittering  spires, 

As  if  the  serried  spears  of  some  great  host 

Had  caught  the  glory  of  the  rising  day ;  ^ 

We  saw  the  region  of  perpetual  ice. 

With  hearts  undaunted,  we  advanced  to  meet 

The  mighty  multitude  of  bergs.     At  even 

We  sailed  into  the  solemn  capital 

Where  reigns  alone  the  Monarch  of  the  North. 

Awe-struck  and  dumb  with  wonder,  we  were  borne 

Through  sinuous  channels,  where  the  heaving  flood 

Rolled  darkly  in  the  gloom  of  palaces 

Hewn  out  of  ice  from  immemorial  years. 

The  full-orbed  moon  sheened  all  the  pinnacles 

With  unimaginable  splendor,  while 

The  twinkling  stars  engrailed  the  liquid  streets 


58  ERIC   AND   EDITH. 

With  arrowy  shafts  of  silver.     But  no  sound 
Of  living  habitant  was  heard  throughout 
That  city  vast.     Mysterious  silence,  grim, 
Supernal,  hovered  there.     The  distant  boom 
Of  the  dull  surge,  the  sea-bird's  fitful  scream, 
The  murmurous  dash  of  runnels  dribbling  down 
The  icy  cliffs  and  chasms  —  these  were  not  sounds  - 
They  were  but  whispers  faintly  breathed  to  him 
Who  slumbers ;  we  were  like  to  one  awake 
At  midnight,  listening,  with  a  panting  heart, 
To  the  weird  voice  of  Silence.     Then  the  wind 
With  spirit  sobbings  left  us,  and  with  sweeps 
Or  grapples  closely  clasping  crystal  wharves, 
We  traversed  the  canals,  and  neared  broad  fields 
Of  ice  interminable,  here  and  there 
Thridded  by  creeks  of  water  dark  as  lead, 
Through  which  our  galley  glided,  compassed  round 
With  thickening  perils,  as  the  floating  slabs 
Of  jagged  ice  against  the  iron  prow 
Did  harshly  grate,  or  o'er  the  bulwarks  tower. 

"Thus  northward  held  our  course,  until  we  dared 
No  further  venture,  but  our  longing  sight 
Had  yet  no  Eric  found.     The  summer  months 
Were  failing  fast  —  fast  fled  the  genial  days ; 
The  birds  flew  southward,  and  the  time  had  come 
Which  bade  us  follow  their  unswerving  flight, 
Ere  winter  should  imprison  us  forever. 
In  vain  had  been  each  anxious  search,  or  where 


ERIC   AND   EDITH.  59 

The  iceberg  soared  in  majesty  asky, 

Or  where  the  cairn  revealed  its  dim  recess, 

Or  where  tumultuous  piles  of  hummocks  rose 

Like  heaps  of  ruins.     Not  a  single  trace 

Of  man  or  bark  was  yet  discovered  there. 

Not  even  a  shattered  spar  on  which  to  hang 

The  sign  of  Hope.     The  bleak  autumnal  winds 

Whistled  more  wildly  o'er  those  sterile  fields 

Of  ice  eternal,  and  we  heard  our  wives 

And  children  call  us  to  our  blazing  hearths. 

And  then  we  said,  '  Let  one  last  search  be  made 

Before  we  sail/     I  led  my  comrades  on. 

Two  days  we  journeyed,  till  at  set  of  sun, 

Far  down  in  the  horizon,  like  a  cloud 

Of  thinnest  violet,  we  saw  a  peak 

Aspiring  to  the  stars.     That  night  the  skies 

Were  crimsoned  with  a  glory  like  the  glare 

Of  a  vast  conflagration;  waves  of  red 

Swept  zenithwards  like  lightning ;  all  the  bergs 

Were  robed  with  purple,  and  their  brows  were  crowned 

With  living  rubies,  and  the  welkin  rang 

With  strange,  mysterious  noises.     By  that  light 

We  travelled  through  the  watches  of  the  night, ' 

But  found  no  Eric.     Underneath  the  peak 

Of  which  I  spake  we  halted,  and,  despair 

Within  our  hearts,  held  council  to  return. 

"At  that  last  moment  I  did  climb  a  cliff 
That  overlooked  the  whole  surrounding  space, 


60  ERIC   AND   EDITH. 

And  glanced  below.     There,  in  a  tomb  of  ice, 

The  dear  old  ship,  the  stout,  the  brave  War  Eagle, 

Had  found  her  grave !     The  mast  was  upright  still, 

But  from  the  swinging  yard  the  tattered  sail 

Had  parted  long  ago.     The  ice  hung  high 

Above  the  gunwale,  threatening  instant  wreck, 

Yet  motionless,  save  when  th'  explosive  shock 

From  distant  floes  thrilled  through  the  glittering  mass. 

Eric  the  chieftain  sat  him  on  the  poop, 

With  all  his  faithful  Norsemen  ranged  around. 

A  ghastly  group  it  was  —  their  bare  ribs  mailed 

With  hauberks,  and  their  skulls  yclad  with  helms ; 

Full  five  and  twenty  skeletons  were  there, 

All  stiff  and  silent,  and  we  knew  each  one 

From  the  worn  scutcheon  on  his  battered  shield ; 

But  Eric  had  enshrouded  his  gaunt  form 

In  a  long  robe  of  silver  foxes'  skins. 

Brave  spirit !  he  had  fought  in  many  a  fight, 

And  overcome  full  many  a  foe  ;  but  when 

He  grasped  his  mighty  brand  for  the  last  time, 

He  lost  the  victory,  for  he  fought  with  Death ! 

"  Oh,  when  I  stood  beside  that  fleshless  frame, 

That  in  its  silence  seemed  so  eloquent, 

And  called  to  mind  the  times  when  we  had  slept 

Like  brothers,  by  the  same  fur  mantle  wrapt, 

Beneath  the  winter  starlight,  when  we  chased 

The  surly  bear  across  the  frozen  lakes ;  — 

Oh,  when  I  thought  of  that  great  heart  now  chill 


ERIC   AND   EDITH.  61 

Within  his  icy  bosom,  —  that  stout  heart 

Which  oftentimes  had  nerved  his  good  right  arm 

To  battle  valiantly,  —  that  heart  which  loved 

As  never  woman  loved,  —  then  was  my  breast 

Convulsed  with  sorrow,  and  I  wept  —  even  I, 

A  warrior  Viking,  wept  — •  as  I  do  now  ! 

Strike  all  your  harps,  ye  Skalds,  and  let  your  shells 

Sweep  solemn  dirges  for  the  fallen  brave  ! 

Lift  up  your  voices  in  th'  ancestral  halls, 

And  chant  his  glory  in  immortal  runes  !  " 

Here  ceased  the  tale,  and  silence  for  a  space 
Held  all  the  listeners.     Louder  pealed  the  storm, 
Shaking  the  rugged  bawn's  embattled  towers ; 
But  when  it  lulled,  and  in  the  distance  wailed, 
A  long-drawn  sigh  was  heard,  scarce  audible, 
Yet  full  of  agony,  and  Edith's  head 
Upon  her  father's  bosom  lifeless  fell. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  BRUSA. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  BRUSA. 


WITH  silly  noise,  the  sleepy  crow, 
Perching  on  yonder  leafless  bough 
Upon  the  cliff's  apex, 
The  dreamy  stillness  breaks  : 
The  white  clouds  of  an  April  day 
Hang  o'er  the  mountain  tops  full  low  : 
The  traveller,  on  his  dappled-gray, 
Along  the  gorge  pursues  his  lonely  way. 

The  bearded  monk,  the  anchorite, 
With  russet  garb  and  locks  of  white, 
Suns  him  before  his  cave, 
A  little  warmth  to  save 
For  him  decrepit,  while  he  saith, 
As  ever  doing  morn  and  night 
With  fervor  and  unceasing  breath, 
His  paters  on  the  rosary  of  his  faith. 

"  Friend  hermit,"  quoth  the  traveller, 
"  Perchance  canst  tell,  lone  caloyer,1 

1  Monk. 


66  THE   BRIDE    OF   BRUSA. 

Wherefore,  on  rocky  ledge, 
Yon  tower,  begrimmed  with  age, 
And  draped  all  o'er  with  ivy  green, 
Deserted  stands  of  dwellers  there ; 
Why  sentinel  of  warlike  mien 
No  more  upon  its  battlements  is  seen  ?  " 

"  Ah  me  !  too  curious,  thou  wouldst  know 
A  tragedy  replete  with  woe. 
It  was  a  chieftain  bold, 
Who  lived  in  days  of  old, 
That  built  those  turrets  dark  and  high, 
Some  eighty  waning  years  ago. 
Long  moons  the  watchsound  might'st  descry 
Alternate  with  the  poising  eagle's  cry. 

"  He  was  a  chieftain  known  to  fame, 
And  Kara  Yani  was  his  name  ; 
But  though  of  sturdy  heart, 
With  many  a  kindly  art 
He  offered  shelter  unto  me, 
When  to  the  castle  gate  I  came : 
I  was  content  for  him  to  be 
A  beadsman,  and  for  his  wild  soldiery. 

"Adventurous  mountaineers  were  they 
Who  there  maintained  a  petty  sway ; 
And  oft,  with  spoil  and  slave, 
With  reeking  lance  and  glaive, 


THE   BRIDE   OF   BRUSA.  67 

Like  lions  to  their  desert  lair, 
They  strode  along  the  winding  way 
Unto  the  fortress  ;   then  the  air 
Of  night  was  lit  up  by  the  torch's  flare  : 

"  When,  resting  from  the  midday's  toils, 
The  victors  counted  o'er  their  spoils, 
While  ghittern's  ceaseless  thrumming, 
And  love-song's  plaintive  humming, 
Attuned  the  watches  of  the  night. 
Alas  !  grim  age  my  memory  foils 
About  those  times  when  yon  dark  height 
Was  brightened  by  the  wassail's  fitful  light. 

"  The  chieftain's  daughter,  full  of  grace, 
Did  flourish  in  that  barren  place 
Like  flower  that  scents  the  air 
On  precipices  bare  ; 
And  one  might  see  a  passing  gleam 
Upon  the  soldier's  rugged  face, 
Chance,  too,  a  tear  his  eye  would  dim, 
What  time  the  maiden  lisped  her  simple  hymn. 

"  Oh,  she  was  fair  in  opening  bloom, 
That  bud  which  cheered  our  castle  home ! 

Her  eyes  were  smiling  blue, 

Like  turtle's,  mild  of  hue ; 
Her  golden  ringlets,  flowing  down, 
Were  soft  as  silk  from  Brusa's  loom ; 


68  THE   BRIDE    OF   BRUSA. 

Her  sportiveness  and  beauty  won 
Upon  my  heart,  as  if  she  were  my  own. 

"  I  bore  her  oft  the  hills  among,  — 
For  then  these  arms  were  young  and  strong,  - 
Where  she  could  hear  the  quail 
Along  the  heathery  vale, 
Or  sweet  bulbul  by  shady  stream ; 
I  taught  her  many  a  holy  song, 
And  hung  her  neck  with  cross  that  came 
From  sacred  olive  in  Jerusalem. 

"  She  had  a  glister-eyed  gazelle,  — 
A  frisky  thing  she  cherished  well,  — 
"Which  loved  to  wander  aye 
Where'er  the  maid  did  stray ; 
And  oft  her  voice  rang  through  the  tower 
Symphonious  with  her  pet's  sweet  bell. 
She  loved  to  train  the  blushing  flower, 
And  cull  spice-scented  basil  evermore. 

"  While  yet  a  boy  of  tender  age, 
Before  I  went  on  pilgrimage, 
There  was  an  airy  form, 
With  playful  ardor  warm, 
Who  wont  to  call  me  brother  dear, 
As  soft  her  arms  my  neck  did  cage 
With  fond  caress,  and  lulled  my  ear 
Ofttimes  with  childish  prattle  sweet  to  hear. 


THE   BRIDE   OF   BRUSA.  69 

"  But  't  was  full  many  a  weary  year 
Since  I  had  heard  her  accents  clear ; 
Since  last  so  tenderly 
My  little  sister's  eye 

Beamed  on  me  with  her  young  heart's  love  ; 
Then  was  it  strange,  O  traveller ! 
That  when  I  ceased  the  earth  to  rove, 
I  doted  on  the  chieftain's  little  dove  ? 

"  But  when  to  bashful  maidenhood, 
Gently  as  bow  looms  on  the  cloud, 
She  glided  softly  then, 
The  lovely,  fair  Elene, 
A  damsel  coy,  she  needs  must  hide 
Within  the  lattice -gloomed  abode  ; 
And  there  she  passed  her  summer  tide, 
Until  a  hero  sought  her  for  his  bride. 

"  The  lord  of.  Biledjik's  domain, 
He  stole,  with  love's  bewitching  chain, 
The  singing  bird  that  blest 
Her  native  mountain  nest : 
Ah,  woful  time,  when  evermore 
They  taught  her  hidden  to  remain  ! 
But  still  more  sad  the  fatal  hour 
When  she  forsook  her  father's  stately  door. 

"  For  many  days  the  festival 
They  kept,  with  dance  and  atabal ; 


70  THE   BRIDE   OF   BRUSA. 

Our  youth,  on  flying  steeds, 

Tilted  with  quivering  reeds ; 
Their  clatter  rang  for  noondays  nine 
Around  the  castle's  lofty  wall ; 
And  eyes  that  flashed  like  Sciote  wine 
There  were,  but  none,  Elene,  so  bright  as  thine  ! 

"  It  was  the  spicy  month  of  June  ; 
And  nightly  rose  the  silent  moon, 
And  with  a  silver  shower 
Illumined  vale  and  tower. 
The  nightingale  we  heard,  between 
The  bursts  of  song,  trill  out  her  tune,  — 
A  fitting  harmony,  I  ween, 
For  happier,  merrier  bridal  ne'er  was  seen. 

"  And  so  the  joyful  season  flew  ; 
But,  ah*!  Osmfin,  the  caitiff,  knew 
That  Biledjik  was  lone, 
With  paltry  garrison. 
Then  flashed  his  eye  with  pride  and  hate ; 
His  jewel-hilted  blade  he  drew, 
Waved  it  aloft,  and  cried,  elate,  . 
t  Mine,  mine  is  Biledjik  !  't  is  doomed  by  Fate  ! ' 

"  You  still  might  see  the  star  of  morn 
Gleam  through  the  golden  edge  of  dawn  ; 
The  fog  lay  white  and  dank 
Amid  the  rushes  rank 


THE   BRIDE    OF   BRUSA.  71 

That  fringe  the  streamlet's  oozy  brink  ; 
And  timidly  the  meek-eyed  fawn 
Came  sauntering  down  for  woodland  drink  — 
So  timid,  while  it  lapped  it  seemed  to  shrink. 

"  Hard  by,  without  the  piny  wood, 
The  stronghold  grim  was  seen  to  brood 
Above  the  misty  sheet 
That  clung  around  its  feet ; 
And  when  the  partridge  called  its  mate, 
A  train  of  thirty  maidens  stood 
Before  the  frowning  castle  gate, 
All  robed  in  white,  admission  to  await. 

" '  Ho,  there ! '  the  warder  from  his  tower ; 
1  What  seek  ye,  friends,  at  such  an  hour  ? ' 
'  The  warlike  Turkoman, 
Your  ally,  brave  Osman/ 
The  damsels  cry,  '  has  gone  to  war ; 
And  now  we  bid  you  grant  the  power 
That  we  therein  may  safely  bear 
These  treasures,  which  he  trusteth  to  your  care.' 

"  With  creak  and  clank  that  terrified 
The  silence,  did  the  drawbridge  slide ; 

The  thundering  echo  rolled, 

As  though  in  fold  on  fold 
OF  surging  air,  through  dark  ravine, 
And  smote  Olympus'  shaggy  side  ; 


2  THE   BRIDE   OF   BRUSA. 

The  frighted  hawk  in  flight  was  seen, 
When  the  procession,  white  and  slow,  passed  in. 

"  When  they  had  reached  the  inner  keep, 
A  yell,  that  made  the  cold  skin  creep,  — 
A  sharp  and  fiendish  cry,  — 
Went  up  the  shuddering  sky ; 
The  figures  doffed  their  woman's  guise  ; 
The  garrison,  awaked  from  sleep, 
Were  seized  with  terrible  surprise  ;  — 
They  saw  Osman  the  Turk  before  their  eyes ! 

"  There  was  no  time  to  sue  for  life  ; 
The  foe  drew  forth  the  hidden  knife  ; 
And  Mercy  was  not  there, 
Afraid  her  raiment  fair 
To  soil  in  scene  so  sadly  foul : 
JT  was  butchery,  instead  of  strife  ; 
Nor  was  there  shrift  for  parting  soul, 
To  soothe  the  passage  to  the  spirit's  goal ! 

"  From  their  pale  lips  life  scarce  had  flown, 
And  scarce  was  hushed  the  dying  groan, 
Ere  to  the  torrent's  flow 
That  muttered  far  below, 
From  the  gray  turret's  dizzy  height, 
The  gasping  murdered  men  were  thrown ; 
And  soon  their  faces,  ghastly  white, 
Were  shadowed  by  the  vulture  and  the  kite. 


THE   BRIDE   OF   BRUSA. 

"  Full  twenty  faithful  hearts,  or  more, 
Were  left  to  welter  in  their  gore  ; 
The  tower,  in  dreariness,  — 
A  place  for  serpent's  hiss, 
For  wizard  haunt  and  ghoul's  demesne,  — 
Osman  forsook  the  self-same  hour, 
And  hastened  to  the  reedy  fen, 
In  ambush  to  abide  the  festive  train. 

"  And  now  the  hour  to  go  drew  near, 
But  the  old  crone,  with  many  a  tear,  — 
Elene's  old  withered  nurse, — 
Did  fearfully  rehearse 
How  that,  from  neighboring  cypress  spire, 
The  owl  had  filled  her  heart  with  fear 
The  night  before,  —  an  omen  dire 
Of  pending  fate  from  Saints'  disastrous  ire. 

"  Though  age  more  perfect  knowledge  brings 
To  read  the  meaning  of  such  things, 
What  recks  of  mystic  tale 
The  warrior's  heart  of  steel, 
And  what  the  young,  light-hearted  maid  ? 
They  heeded  not  her  counsellings  : 
When  twilight  settled  o'er  the  glade, 
They  quit  the  gates,  a  brilliant  cavalcade. 

"  Oh,  what  a  merry,  joyous  time ! 
The  tinkling  brooks,  with  playful  chime, 


4  THE   BRIDE   OP   BRUSA. 

Danced  o'er  their  pebbled  beds, 
Like  sparkling  silver  threads 
Broidered  upon  the  myrtle  spray ; 
The  leaves'  soft  rustle  seemed  the  rhyme 
Of  elfin  sprites,  whose  magic  lay 
Has  more  of  sweetness  in  the  moonlight  ray. 

"  And  thus  their  palfreys  ambled  down 
Gently  through  dell  and  grassy  lawn ; 
And  ever  light  and  free 
The  notes  of  jubilee 
Through  darkling  copse  and  forest  rang ; 
And  ever,  as  they  wandered  on, 
Above  the  courser's  hollow  clang, 
In  chorus  long  and  loud  they  laughed  and  sang. 

"  Anon  their  proud  and  champing  steeds 
Pace  on  through  shadow-checkered  meads, 
Where  rivulets  meander 
Bedecked  with  oleander ; 
And  frequent  ford,  with  radiant  trail, 
The  warbling  stream,  whose  pearly  beads 
With  sparkling  dew  their  forms  engrail, 
And  spangle  every  warrior's  chain -wrought  mail. 

"  I  travelled  with  them  one  sweet  hour, 
To  where  the  willow  wove  a  bower 
With  oak  and  olive  wild, 
And  shadows  soft  beguiled 


THE   BRIDE    OF   BRUSA.  K 

To  hover  quivering  o'er  the  river  ; 
Then  backward  to  my  chieftain's  tower. 
Their  music  following  on  the  zephyr, 
I  turned,  and  they  were  gone,  and  gone  forever. 

"  That  night,  wrapped  in  my  wool  capote, 
On  yonder  pile  that  stands  remote, 
While  all  did  silence  keep, 
I  vainly  courted  sleep ; 
And  gained,  instead,  the  memory 
Of  what  the  beldame  raved  about 
In  her  delirious  prophecy, 
To  taunt  me  shivering  superstitiously. 

"  I  could  not  drive  it  from  my  mind. 
Stranger,  thou  kriow'st  the  more  inclined 
Bad  visions  to  forget 
One  is,  the  deeper  set 
They  rankle  in  the  tortured  breast ; 
And  spite  of  will,  my  soul  divined, 
From  signs  on  nature's  face  impressed, 
That  fearful  hour  was  nigh,  and  rightly  guessed. 

"  As  said  before,  my  simple  bed 
Upon  the  battlements  was  spread, 
For  this,  the  only  reason, 
That 't  was  the  summer  season  ; 
But  as  I  gazed,  bereft  of  sleep, 
Upon  the  stars,  a  gradual  shade, 


76  THE   BRIDE    OP   BRUSA. 

A  mist  from  southward,  seemed  to  creep 
TVith  awful  dimness  o'er  them,  and  to  steep 

"  The  atmosphere  in  mystic  woe. 
The  ghastly  moon  her  face  did  show 
Cinctured  by  copper  ring, 
Whose  bale-portentous  wing 
Encircled  half  the  welkin  vast; 
But  not  a  breeze  was  heard  to  blow  ; 
The  forest's  spirits,  as  they  passed, 
Feared  to  awake  the  leaves  with  phantom  blast. 

"  No  thing  of  life,  no  stirring  form, 
Disturbed  that  stillness  boding  harm  ; , 
No  jackal's  dusky  shade 
Glided  across  the  glade, 
Nor  heard  the  owlet's  mournful  call ; 
But,  stricken  by  some  threatening  storm, 
Pale  Nature  owned  a  silent  thrall, 
As  if  the  hand  of  Death  had  palsied  all. 

"  The  spell  struck  through  my  shuddering  heart ; 
Alarmed,  I  shook,  with  frequent  start, 
As  though  I  felt  the  touch 
Of  witch's  icy  clutch ; 
Cold  moisture  dewed  my  forehead  wan, 
My  lips  refused  for  prayer  to  part, 
Benumbed  by  fear's  mysterious  ban  : 
I  longed  to  hear  the  voice  of  living  man  ! 


THE   ERIDE   OF   BRUSA.  77 

"  In  vain  I  sought  the  guard  t'  arouse, 
O'ercome  by  midday's  hard  carouse  ; 
His  features  rough  and  stern 
Did  towards  the  moon  upturn  ; 
He  raved  in  sleep,  and  beat  the  air, 
As  though  he  fought  with  mortal  foes, 
And  wist  not  of  his  wild  nightmare  : 
I  let"  him  dream,  and  turned  in  dread  despair 

u  Just  then  a  breath  —  'twas  scarce  a  breeze  — 
Hovered  amid  the  loftiest  trees, 
And  died  before  it  blew; 
The  cock  in  distance  crew ; 
It  was  the  third  watch  of  the  night  : 
Grateful,  I  sank  upon  my  knees, 
And  sobbed,  '  I  thank  thee,  God  of  light, 
There  yet  is  life  —  't  was  but  a  transient  blight ! ' 

"  While  still  in  low  obeisance  bowed, 
It  came  !  —  a  roar  like  rushing  flood 
Rumbled  through  depths  profound 
Of  mountains  void  of  sound : 
A  dreadful  shudder  broke  the  gloom  ; 
And  woods  and  cliffs,  whose  roots  had  stood 
A  thousand  years,  now  felt  their  doom, 
And  thundered  from  the  heights  with  awful  boom  ! 


At  once  the  din  of  yelping  fox, 
And  myriad  birds,  in  screeching 


flocks, 


87  THE   BRIDE    OF   BRUSA. 

Whose  cries  bespoke  distress, 
Pierced  through  the  wilderness, 
*  With  wailing  voice  and  human  yell ! 
Again  the  earthquake  hurled  the  rocks ; 
A  tower  joined  to  the  citadel 
Heaved  on  its  granite  base,  reeled,  tottered,  fell ! 

"  Now  blew  the  wind  a  soothing  breath ;  — 
So  peace  succeeds  the  pangs  of  death  ;  — 
Although  a  tremor  rolled 
At  times  along  the  wold ; 
Then  did  the  warriors  clamorous  cry  ; 
And  some  averred  that,  by  their  faith, 
They  saw  Elene's  pale  ghost  flit  by, 
And  vanish  straightway  towards  the  misty  sky. 

"  But  while  our  hearts  were  terror-riven, 
A  piercing  neigh  shot  up  to  heaven  ; 
A  horse,  with  loosened  rein, 
And  wildly  flying  mane, 
Dashed  up  the  castle's  craggy  road : 
His  glossy  hide  was  black  as  raven, 
But  it  was  stained  with  clotted  blood, 
And  his  keen  eye  gleamed  fiercely  where  he  stood. 

"  0  Panayia  ! l  my  heart  doth  bleed  ! 
For  when  our  youth,  with  timorous  speed, 

1  The  Virgin  Mary. 


THE   BRIDE   OF   BRUSA.  79 

Rushed  to  the  postern  gate, 

Where  he  did  restive  wait, 
And  let  the  pawing  charger  in, 
Behold,  it  was  the  tasselled  steed 
Which  she  had  ridden  like  a  queen, 
With  smiling  rapture  in  her  soft  blue  een. 

"  It  was  —  it  was  her  noble  horse ! 
They  swore  so  by  the  holy  cross  ! 
But  where,  oh,  where  was  she  ? 
In  lone  captivity  ? 
Or  lying  on  some  distant  plain, 
A  cold,  neglected,  tombless  corse  ? 
Ah,  then  they  mourned  in  dismal  strain, 
With  wail  tumultuous,  '  Elene  !  Elene  ! ' 

"  And  now,  as  morn  drew  on  apace, 
A  soldier,  wayworn,  lank  of  face, 
Arrived  in  weary  haste 
Where  we  stood  all  aghast, 
And  said,  <  Lo,  in  the  vale  of  pines, 
In  lonely,  dark,  and  marshy  place, 
'Mid  sighing  sedge  and  trailing  vines, 
The  gentle  maiden's  pallid  corpse  reclines.' 

"  The  fugitive  told  us,  with  tears, 
That  they  were  singing,  free  of  fears, 
Beside  the  glassy  stream, 
When  they  beheld  the  gleam 


80  THE   BRIDE    OF   BRUS,\. 

Of  glaring  eyeballs  in  the  dell ; 
The  riders  fell  by  hidden  spears,  — 
Even  the  bride,  so  fair  and  frail,  — 
And  he  alone  escaped  to  tell  the  tale." 

u  And  did  they  leave  her  lying  there  ?  " 
The  traveller  asks,  with  plaintive  air. 
"  Ah,  no  !  they  sent  a  troop, 

Ere  eve  began  to  droop, 
Of  faithful  horsemen  to  the  wild-, 
Who  brought  her,  still  in  death  how  fair ! 
Rose  faintly  hued  her  features  mild ; 
Half  seemed  as  if  her  vanished  spirit  smiled. 

"  With  violets  blue  they  wreathed  her  brow, 
And  bid  the  solemn  dirges  flow, 
And  washed  her  mournful  bier 
With  many  a  bitter  tear : 
It  scarce  could  be  a  sin  to  rave, 
When  all  our  hearts  were  filled  with  woe, 
To  think,  ah  me  !  we  could  not  save 
Our  darling  from  the  bleak  and  silent  grave  !  " 

"  Did  Kara  Yani,  all  forlore," 
The  saddened  stranger  asks  once  more, 
"  Grieve  for  his  lovely  daughter, 

Thus  slain  in  ruthless  slaughter  ?  " 
"  Deprive  the  eagle  of  her  brood, 
And  will  she  not  that  very  hour 
Her  head  with  listless  pinion  hood, 
And  pine  her  life  away  in  sullen  mood  ? 


THE   BRIDE    OF   BRUSA.  81 

"  So  when  his  child  the  chieftain  lost, 
The  treasure  that  he  cherished  most, 
Consumed  by  cankering  care, 
He  sought  seclusion  there  ; 
But  crying,  in  an  evil  hour, 
'  On  battle-field  I  yield  the  ghost,' 
He  fiercely  quit  his  gloomy  tower  ; 
The  foe  entrapped  him  and  he  came  no  more. 

"  There  on  its  rocky  pedestal, 
The  thistle  flaunting  from  the  wall 
Its  only  banner  now, 
And  time  its  only  foe, 
That  dreary  fortress  silent  stands  ; 
Unheard  the  watchman's  midnight  call, 
Unheard  the  captain's  loud  commands, 
Nor  festive  song,  nor  shout  of  martial  bands. 

"  In  summer  time  its  shade  affords 
A  caravansary  for  herds 
Of  the  lone  shepherd  swain, 
Who  pipeth  mellow  strain 
The  livelong  day  amid  the  flowers, 
Whose  parasitic  beauty  girds 
The  lofty,  gray,  and  mouldering  towers,    [roars. 
That  gaze  where  Spring's  foam-whitened  torrent 

"  And  there  the  passage  birds  alight, 
When  winging  on  their  southward  flight, 
And  sweeten  Autumn's  sadness 
With  their  shrill  notes  of  gladness. 


82  THE   BRIDE    OF   BRUSA. 

In  those  old  bygone  days  I  said, 
In  bitterness  of  soul,  6  'T  is  right 
That  I,  who  loved  the  noble  dead, 
With  frequent  prayer  should  soothe  their  lonely  bed. 

"  Therefore  I  solitary  dwell 
In  this  my  wild  and  rock-hewn  cell, 
And  light  my  brushwood  fire 
At  night,  with  fear  t'  inspire 
The  wolf  that  prowls  in  search  of  prey ; 
When  loosened  stones  leap  down  the  dell 
From  yonder  ruin,  and  betray 
That  evil  spirits  aid  its  sad  decay  ;  — 

"  When  storm-blasts  sweep,  with  wail  prolonged, 
Where  mourning  pines  are  densely  thronged, 
Such  season  I  am  wont 
These  holy  beads  to  count, 
And  pray,  as  I  recall  the  grace 
Which  to  her  saint-like  face  belonged, 
That  angels  good  may  never  cease 
To  guide  her  gentle  spirit  into  peace. 

"  Now,  traveller,  hie  thee  ere  the  sun 
Sink  down  behind  yon  mountains  dun,  — 
Ere  night  her  shadows  weave, 
The  wanderer  to  deceive. 
God  speed  thee  on  thy  homeward  way, 
And  may  thy  days  rejoicing  run ! 
For  me  sometimes  if  thou  would'st  pray, 
It  might,  perchance,  this  simple  tale  repay." 


PIETRO  BELLA  VALLE'S  LAMENT. 


PIETRO  DELIA  VALLE'S  LAMENT. 


LIKE  one  forlorn,  from  land  to  land 

The  traveller  wandered  long ; 
But  aye  the  touch  of  one  soft  hand, 

A  voice  of  sweetest  song, 
Did  haunt  his  dreams  in  broken  sleep, 

And  round  his  thoughts  did  wreathe 
By  day  ;  and  as  he  turned  to  weep, 

His  bruised  heart  would  breathe, 

w  My  fair  Maany  : 

"  Where'er  I  stray,  thy  lovely  form 

Goes  with  me,  as  whilome  ; 
But  that  sweet  soul  that  had  a  charm 

To  tinge  thy  cheek  with  bloom, 
To  fill  that  wild,  dark  eye  of  thine 

With  love's  resistless  fire,  — 
Oh!  could  so  bright  a  star  decline, 
So  soft  a  flame  expire, 

My  fair  Maany  ? 

"  Return,  sweet  spirit,  oh,  return  ! 
Reanimate  this  clay ! 


86  PIETRO    BELLA    VALLEYS   LAMENT. 

By  day  and  night  for  thee  I  mourn  — 
Where  does  my  birdling  stray  ? 

My  heart  nought  else  had  learnt  to  own 
Than  thee,  when  thou  wert  here ; 

And  there 's  no  balm  since  thou  art  gone 
To  soothe  the  bitter  tear, 

My  fair  Maany. 

"  No  more  shall  Mosellay's 1  green  bowers, 

Nor  dimpling  Rocknebad,2 
Nor  gorgeous  Bagdad's  golden  towers 

My  sorrowing  spirit  glad  : 
The  fleecy  welkin  greets  my  eye  ; 

I  hear  the  nightingale, 
When  summer  winds  go  moaning  by, 
Along  the  purple  vale, 

My  fair  Maany. 

"  But  what  are  nature's  beauties  now, 

And  what  the  world  to  me, 
Whose  eyes  are  dimmed  with  blackest  woe, 

As  though  I  could  not  see  ? 
Dark  sorrow  has  eclipsed  my  joys, 

A  grief  I  cannot  flee  : 
And  e'er  I  hear  a  hollow  voice 
Whispering,  '  Oh,  where  is  she, 

Your  lost  Maany  ? ' 

1  A  garden  of  Shiraz.  2  A  stream  of  Shiraz. 


PIETRO    BELLA   VALLE'S   LAMENT.  87 

"  How  oft  I  dream  thou  hov'rest  near, 

To  calm  my  frantic  heart ; 
And  't  is  not  all  a  dream,  for  here 

(Alas,  how  still !)  thou  art. 
And  shall  my  sighs  be  all  unheard, 

Unheeded  my  emotion  ? 
Ob,  I  am  lonely  as  a  bird 
Upon  the  pathless  ocean, 

My  fair  Maany ! 

"  I  may  not  wake  thy  soul  again 

To  life's  unceasing  care  ; 
To  all  the  agony  of  pain 

That  haunts  the  dwellers  here  : 
No  !  no  !  unbroken  be  thy  rest ; 

I  '11  bear  life's  weary  thrall 
A  few  days  more,  since  thou  art  blest, 
My  love  —  my  hope  —  my  all  — 

My  own  Maany  ! " 


SOMETS  FROM  THE  ORIENT. 


SMYRNA. 


THE  sunset  gun  has  died  along  the  sea; 

It  is  the  evening  of  Bairami's 1  fete  ; 

The  torches  on  each  tapering  minaret 

Flash  in  the  rippling  waters  of  the  bay, 

And  languid  vapor  dims  the  droning  town  : 

From  Smyrna's  dewy  gardens  floats  the  scent 

Of  myrtle,  rose,  and  citron,  softly  blent, 

Like  votive  incense  by  each  zephyr  blown 

Round  the  blind  minstrel's  2  cave.     Since  he  began 

His  deathless  song,  weird  city  of  the  dead,     • 

Aged  Smyrna  !  thou  hast  heard  the  busy  tread 

Of  buried  millions  where  the  caravan 

Now  wends  its  tinkling  way  by  Meles'  stream, 

Where  ramparts  moulder  in  the  moonlight  beam. 

1  A  Turkish  festival.'  2  Homer. 


THE     E  O  E  A  X  . 


TAYGETUS'  snowy  ridge,  Taenarium's  cape, 
And  Cythera's  islet  stretching  far  away, 
Are  purpled  by  the  tints  of  dying  day, 
And  the  Egean  heaves  its  glassy  deep, 
A  tranquil  mirror  for  the  westering  sun. 
Time-hallowed  Sea  !  —  from  shadowy  isle  to  isle 
Still  echoeth  faint  the  Lesbian  lyre,  erewhile 
Blending  with  Doric  song.     Aye  !  not  alone 
For  what  thou  art,  but  for  the  deeds  of  worth 
Done  on  thy  shores,  I  love  thy  billows'  roar, 
Nor,  exile-like,  would  leave  thee  evermore  ; 
But  as  the  bird  that  flies  the  wintry  north, 
And  with  the  Spring  re-seeks  its  native  dell, 
So  bid  I  thee,  Egean  wave,  farewell ! 


SICILY. 


A  PLEASANT  land  looms  up  against  the  sky ; 

Green  hills  and  slopes,  bright  with  perennial  Spring, 

And  domes  and  airy  spires,  faint  glittering 

Through  their  light  wreaths  of  seamist,  greet  the  eye  ; 

While,  floating  wildly  o'er  the  deep-blue  sea, 

The  boatman's  music  lulls  th'  enchanted  ear. 

Sicilians  island  this,  the  sister  fair 

Who  sweetly  smiles  on  vine-clad  Italy  : 

Alike  the  sharer  of  her  sons  of  song, 

Her  black-eyed  maids,  her  heroes  and  her  arts  ; 

And  drunk  alike  with  blood  of  patriot  hearts, 

She  rises,  phoenix-like,  from  tyrants'  wrong, 

And  asks  thee,  traveller,  if  thy  wandering  een 

Have  ever  gazed  upon  a  lovelier  scene. 


NOTES. 


PAGE  8.  —  Their  waving  plumes  and  spectral  steeds  are  gone. 

Scott's  "  Count  Eobert  of  Paris  "  presents  a  lively  picture  of 
the  appearance  of  the  first  Crusaders  at  Constantinople,  the  sen 
sation  the  rude,  but  chivalrous,  warriors  produced  at  the  Byzan 
tine  court,  and  the  wily  arts  of  Alexius,  —  naturally  a  noble 
monarch,  but  reduced  by  circumstances  to  the  practice  of  treach 
ery. 

PAGE  14.  —  Here  thoughtful  solitude  reigns  undisturbed. 
The  Seraglio  has  for  three  reigns  been  forsaken  as  a  place  of 
residence ;  its  precincts,  "  with  many  a  foul  and  midnight  mur 
der  fed,"  are  too  melancholy  even  for  the  abode  of  royalty. 

PAGE  19.  —  Here  stands  a  cankered  brazen  pillar. 
"  The  space  between  the  metes,  or  goals,  was  filled  with  statues 
and  obelisks ;  and  we  may  still  remark  a  very  singular  fragment 
of  antiquity  —  the  bodies  of  three  serpents  twisted  into  one  pillar 
of  brass.  Their  triple  heads  had  once  supported  the  golden  tri 
pod,  which,  after  the  defeat  of  Xerxes,  was  consecrated  in  the 
temple  of  Delphi  by  the  victorious  Greeks."  The  heads  of  these 
serpents  have  long  been  broken  off.  According  to  Gibbon,  Mo 
hammed  II.  shattered  them  with  his  iron  mace  on  the  day  when 
he  captured  the  city.  Lamartine  and  Von  Hammer  do  not,  how- 


94  NOTES. 

ever,  allude  to  this  circumstance.  The  remaining  monuments  of 
the  Hippodrome  are  a  tapering  stone  column,  one  hundred  feet 
high,  once  plated  with  brass,  and  an  obelisk  transported  from 
Egypt,  in  excellent  preservation. 

PAGE  20.  —  Until  the  deep-mouthed  cannon's  sullen  boom. 
From  one  of  the  hills  of  the  Bosphorus  cannon  proclaim  to  the 
city  the  first  appearance  of  fire  at  the  same  time  that  heralds  an 
nounce  the  intelligence  through  the  streets.  The  fires  of  Stam- 
bul  possess  a  fearful  significance,  because  they  have  been,  and 
still  are,  the  media  for  expressing  the  public  dissatisfaction  with 
the  ruling  ministry;  such  at  least  has  been  the  case  since  the 
Ottomans  entered  the  capital.  Lamartine  finely  observes, 
"  L'opinion  publique  asservie,  mais  indignee,  se  revela  par  des 
incendies  multiplies  dans  Constantinople,  avertissements  ano- 
nymes  qui  prennent  le  feu  pourvoix,  et  souleventle  peuple  par  la 
terreur  et  le  desespoir."  The  conflagration  raised  by  the  Greens 
and  Blues,  when  "  the  greatest  tumult  known  in  history  "  shook 
the  throne  of  Justinian,  the  eight  days7  fire  kindled  by  the  Latin 
faction  in  1203,  and  the  combustion  of  twenty  thousand  houses 
in  one  night,  in  the  reign  of  Selim  II.,  are  favorable  specimens 
of  the  talent  so  often  displayed  by  Constantinople  in  this  line. 

PAGE  26.  —  And  the  foam-sheaf  of  fountains  falls, 

From  night  to  day,  from  day  to  night,  etc. 

"  Day  and  night  to  the  billow  the  fountain  calls." 

TENNYSON. 

PAGE  29.  —  Hangs  upon  the  string  a  pearl. 
The  idea  of  imparting  to  these  pearls  a  sympathy  with  the  for 
tunes  of  the  island  maidens  was  suggested  by  a  tale  read  by  the 
author  in  childhood. 


NOTES.  95 

PAGE  54.  —  Explore,  the  ocean  bound  with  ice. 
The  ladies  of  old  time  were  only  equalled  in  their  exactions  by 
the  docility  of  their  lovers.  The  romances  and  legends  of  the 
Middle  Ages  teem  with  examples.  Out  of  numerous  authentic 
cases  behold  one.  It  is  told  of  Harold  Harfager,  one  of  the  great 
est  kings  of  Norway,  that  he  was  coolly  informed  by  Gilda,  his 
lady-love,  that  the  sole  condition  which  would  insure  success  to 
his  suit  was  the  possession  of  the  Norwegian  sovereignty !  After 
ten  long  years  of  hard  fighting,  he  won  the  sceptre  and  his  bride. 

PAGE  55.  —  Alas  for  swan-necked  Edith  ! 

Edith,  the  mistress  of  Harold  II.,  of  England,  and  the  person 
who  recognized  his  corpse  on  the  battle-field  of  Hastings,  was, 
on  account  of  her  charms,  surnamed  swan-necked. 

PAGE  65.  —  The  Bride  of  Brusa. 

The  scene  of  the  plot  being  laid  in  that  portion  of  Bithynia  in 
which  lies  Brusa  the  Beautiful,  the  title  is  more  appropriate 
than  might  at  first  appear.  The  poem  was  suggested  by  the  fol 
lowing  legend,  related  by  Von  Hammer:  Osman,  the  founder  of 
the  Ottoman  Empire,  when  first  building  up  his  fortunes,  formed 
a  politic  alliance  with  the  lord  of  Bilodjik.  One  article  of  the 
treaty  was  that  Osman,  when  he  went  to  war,  should  have  the 
liberty  of  depositing  his  treasures  in  the  castle  of  his  ally.  Af 
ter  subduing  the  neighboring  chieftains,  he  sought  to  seize  Biled- 
jik.  An  opportunity  offered,  on  the  departure  of  its  unsuspect 
ing  master,  to  wed  the  daughter  of  a  Greek  chieftain.  Osman 
captured  the  castle  by  the  stratagem  described  in  the  poem,  and 
fell  upon  the  bridal  train.  The  bridegroom  was  slain,  and  Nilou- 
fer  his  bride  given  to  Orchan,  the  son  and  heir  of  Osmaa.  It  will 


96  NOTES. 

be  observed  that  some  liberties  have  been  taken  with  the  legend, 
not  so  much  to  be  deprecated,  since  even  the  historians  present 
a  woful  discrepancy  in  their  account  of  this  affair.  The  earth 
quake  is  described  from  personal  experience.  The  region  of 
Brusa  is  notorious  for  its  volcanic  phenomena.  Elene,  the  name 
of  the  heroine,  and  the  Greek  for  Helen,  is  properly  divisible 
into  three  syllables.  It  has  been  thought  best  partially  to  An 
glicize  it  by  silencing  the  last  vowel. 

PAGE  85.  — -  Pietro  Delia  Vall^s  Lament. 
Pietro  Delia  Valle,  a  celebrated  Italian  traveller  of  the  seven 
teenth  century,  married  a  beautiful  Nestorian  lady  of  Bagdad, 
who  accompanied  him  on  his  travels.  At  the  age  of  twenty-one, 
death  snatched  her  from  his  arms.  A  total  change  now  came 
over  the  mind  of  Delia  Valle,  and  a  cloud,  black  as  Erebus, 
descended  upon  his  soul.  He  resolved  that  she  should  not  be 
laid  in  Persia,  where  he  could  nevermore  visit  her  grave.  He 
therefore  contrived  to  have  the  body  embalmed;  then,  enclos 
ing  it  in  a  coffin,  placed  it  in  a  travelling-chest,  that  wherever 
destiny  should  guide  him,  the  dear  remains  of  his  Maany  might 
accompany  him  to  the  grave. 

PAGE  89.  —  Round  the  blind  minstrel's  cave. 
Seven  places  of  antiquity  were  emulous  for  the  honor  of  being 
the  birthplace  of  Homer,  the  reputed  son  of  Mseon.  The  claims  of 
Smyrna  were  the  most  plausible.  There,  before  setting  out  on 
his  travels,  he  blended  the  bitter  with  the  sweet,  by  undertaking 
the  trials  of  schoolmaster,  and  paying  his  devotions  to  the  Muses. 
Tradition  still  points  to  a  cave  in  the  vicinity  of  Smyrna  as  one  of 
his  favorite  retreats. 


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